#I crushed my toe with the metal legs of a kitchen chair once

[wormzandgutz]

Have started getting flashbacks whenever my bare toes are near the kitchen chairs

[heyitmelexie]

Falling In Love

Din Djarin x riduur!F!Reader

Word count: 3444 Warnings: mention of wounds and blood Rating: Teen and up

A/N: Day 9 of the December Writing Challenge by @honeymandos​! ❤️

This was also my first time ever writing for Din!

I know it’s late but I’m currently pretty occupied with uni etc. Hope you enjoy anyway!!  ❤️

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The sweet smell of Bantha-butter pancakes tickles your nose and pulls you from your peaceful slumber.

As you open your eyes you see soft beams of sunshine creep through the window, illuminating your exposed legs and bathing them in warmth.

You smile and stretch, hearing the sizzling noise of the pancakes coming from the kitchen, accompanied by soft talking, gentle coos and occasionally one or the other clank.

The door is slightly ajar, but you can still see the domestic scene playing in the other room.

Din, in only his pants and with his hair still mussed, stands with his broad back turned to you. He’s making breakfast while quietly talking to your little green son, who sits on the counter right next to him. You see his ears occasionally perk up, followed by coos and little giggles, making you smile.

“Look, now you flip it. Just like this” you hear Din say, before (you assume) he tries to flip it with the pan. You expect to hear the loud sizzling again, indicating that the uncooked side of the pancake landed safely back in the pan. Instead, you hear a dull splash, like a wet fish falling onto tiles, followed by strings of curses coming from Din and a loud, hearty laugh from that little womp rat.

You laugh softly at that, getting out of bed to make your way into the kitchen.

Upon hearing your laugh coming from behind him, Din turns and looks at you, a sheepish smile playing on his flustered face.

“I hope I didn’t wake you, cyare” he says before quickly cleaning up the mess he made.

“Not really. I woke up from the smell of my favourite breakfast” you hum, before kissing your son’s wrinkly little head. He coos happily and then stretches out his arms to make grabby hands at you. You chuckle softly and then proceed to pick him up. He immediately snuggles against you, one of his little claws clutching onto your shirt.

Din smiles, before gently kissing your lips and then continuing to make the breakfast.

You take the time to go outside into your little garden with the child in your arms.

The sun immediately engulfs you in its warm light and you lay down in the soft grass between the flower beds. The little one moves to get comfortable on top of you, snuggling into your chest and cooing contently.

You smile at him and gently caress his big ears.

Din and you had built this little hut on Naboo together just about a year ago, finally deciding to partially settle down and have a somewhat quiet life. He would occasionally still go on a few hunts to get some credits for the three of you while you would stay home with the child. He would always make sure to not stay away for too long. Din had gotten really used to this simple life with you.

As you now lay there in the grass, admiring yours and Din’s handiwork, you think back to how you two met.

And what had made you realize that you had deeply fallen for this beskar-clad warrior (and honestly sometimes tin can dumb bitch of a man).

You grew up in a very small village that was hidden in the lush forests of Naboo. People there were kind and caring, always helping each other and even going so far as helping out strangers that desperately needed the help.

And that’s what had led to meeting him.

*

You were some sort of healer for the people of your village. Mixing concoctions, ointments, bacta gels, etc. Taking care of wounded and ill people. They trusted you with their lives and that had filled you with a great sense of pride.

One day, while you were collecting herbs in your little garden, you could hear a loud commotion coming from the marketplace. The noise steadily grew louder until five people stormed in, carrying a person covered head to toe in fabrics and metal, that was bleeding profusely from a deep wound in their lower abdomen. A pool of blood was very quickly forming on the floor and then on the bed once they put the person on it.

You dropped everything you held and rushed inside, immediately starting to cut off the fabric from around the wound to get better access to it, not even thinking about removing the armour and pants. You knew what that would mean.

You had heard about Mandalorians before. Strangers come and go; they spend most of their time at the small cantina. Many of them weren’t very social and would mostly just ignore the questions they were asked. But others, they would talk and then wouldn’t stop, much to the delight of the folks here.

That’s how one day you met a woman called Rook Cava.

She was unlike any other person you had ever met before. Just like this wounded person, she was covered in fabrics and metal armour, from head to toe. The specially shaped breast plate was the only certain physical indication for you that assured you she was a woman. The armour had been painted a very deep purple, the paint was already chipping away here and there. On the helmet, around the visor, there were golden, intricate symbols. She was mysterious and, even though you had no idea what she looked like, you thought she was breathtakingly beautiful.

She emitted such strength and power. The armour made her look bulky, but the fabric underneath laid snug against her skin and you saw her biceps. She wasn’t bulky, no, she was strong and muscular. You had never seen a woman like her before. She rendered you speechless and at the same time there were so many questions you wanted to ask her. But you didn’t want to overwhelm her, so you kept these questions to yourself.

So instead, you let her rest for a bit, she had obviously been travelling for a long time before taking a break on Naboo.

Rook was a step ahead of you though because the next morning she knocked at your door. She explained that she needed a few ointments and new bacta gel for the next few weeks of her travels and that everyone had told her to go seek you out for that.

Without hesitation you had let her in, offering her a seat and something to drink which she politely declined.

You sat in comfortable silence for a bit, while you collected the things she needed and also freshly mixed some of them so she could take a bigger amount with her.

Rook noticed that you held back your questions, always glancing at her, at her armour. She smiled under the helmet, amused and also astonished that you hadn’t drowned her in your questions yet.

She slightly shook her head in amusement and leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms behind her head.

“What do you wanna know?”

Your head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. Her question had caught you off guard and she had laughed at your shocked reaction, heat creeping to your cheeks in embarrassment.

“It’s fine. I know I’m not a very common sight. Go ahead, ask your questions” she said, her voice warm and friendly. The complete opposite from her fierce appearance.

“Uhmm… what exactly are you?” ‘What exactly are you?!’ You wanted to slap yourself across the face for such a stupid question. But Rook didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m a Mandalorian. Have you ever heard of those?” You shook your head no at that and she nodded, showing you that she understood.

“To be clear, a Mandalorian is not a race. It’s a creed. You can be born by Mandalorian parents and grow up to become one yourself, or you could be a foundling. Those are children who lose their families at a very young age. They can be taken in by Mandalorians so they have a home and protection. They will grow up and become warriors as well, they will swear the oath. They will live their lives in anonymity, protecting their creed.”

You let that sink in and crush the herbs in your little bowl. Your eyebrows furrow and you take in her armour again.

“Anonymity… What exactly do you mean by that? I mean, I know your name. So, that isn’t very… anonym, is it?” She smiles, but you can’t see it.

“I decided to go by my name because I was just tired of everyone calling me Mando. I hated it. Some of my kind decide to keep their names to themselves, only revealing them to their loved ones and children. Others, like me, are okay with sharing that information. And, by the way, do people check if the name is real anyway?” You laugh at that. She was right. She could tell everyone a made-up name and they would believe it. Nobody checks.

“But, unless you are the wife of a Mandalorian, you will never be able to put a face to that name. We don’t reveal our faces to anyone but our families. If a Mandalorian takes off the helmet in front of another living thing, the Creed would be soiled, the oath you swore - broken. And we are nothing without our Creed. It’s our religion, it’s sacred, holy. It’s what makes us who we are. And we will kill anyone who tries to take that from us.”

“Is that why you declined the water? And why you asked for the food to be brought to your room last night, so you wouldn’t have to eat in the cantina? Because you can’t take off your helmet?”

She just nodded and you hummed in response, thinking about your next question.

“What happens when you get hurt and someone has to access, let’s say, your thigh. Do you just have to risk dying or are others allowed to see other parts of your body?”

She seemed to think about that for a moment, trying to come up with a good answer.

“Technically we aren’t allowed to show any part of our body to anyone. But wounds are, let’s say, a little loophole. If the wound is dangerous and could possibly kill me, then we can let them assess it. Let’s take your example.” She taps one of her thigh plates.

“If I had an awful wound on my thigh that I couldn’t take care of alone and would need help with, I can take off my thigh plate. You can’t take off my pants but you can cut a hole into the fabric so you can access the wound properly. You couldn’t see much of my skin. My Creed would be intact and you can save my life.” A loophole.

This brings you back to your current situation.

“You need to take off his armour! And his clothes! How can you dress his wound like that?” one of the villagers says, not understanding why you just cut a whole into that person’s pants.

You assumed it was a man, his shoulders seemed to be too broad for a woman and his chest plate was quite flat.

“I can take care of his wound like that just fine” you say, telling them what you needed in order to close and disinfect the wound.

It took you a bit over an hour until you had finally finished stitching it up and wrapping gauze around his thigh.

He still wouldn’t move; the blood loss must have weakened him. You had checked his pulse just to be sure he was still alive and then bundled him up into blankets

Just when you finished cleaning the blood stains and tidying the room, he jolted awake, startling you.

He quickly scanned the room before pulling the blankets off of him and attempting to stand up. You saw his knees buckle slightly and rushed over to steady him, carefully pushing him back onto the bed.

“You need to lie down and rest for a while. You lost a lot of blood” you told him, getting him a glass of water and digging out a straw from your drawers.

You held the glass out for him to take but his visor was focused on your face.

“Who are you? Where am I?” His rough and rather deep voice sent a shiver down your smile that you tried to suppress. You just smiled and told him your name, gently pushing the glass into his hand but he didn’t drink yet, still looking at you.

“You’re on Naboo. A few hours ago you were brought to me because you had a very nasty wound on your abdomen, bleeding like mad. I took care of it, but you need to rest or the stitches will break open again and you’ll risk an infection. And you need to drink” you say, pushing the glass a bit closer towards his face.

When you turn around to put the trash away, he tucks the straw under his helmet and quickly empties the glass. He’s relieved to notice that he immediately feels a bit less lightheaded and puts the glass on the little table before lying back down. For some odd reason he feels like he can trust you.

“I didn’t take off your armour or your clothes. And especially not your helmet, so don’t worry. I must admit though that I put my hand under your helmet as best as I could to see if there would be any blood. But I looked away while I did that, I promise. I know it’s forbidden” you turned back to him, a gentle smile on your face.

“I… Okay. Thank you.”

You felt relief wash over you, glad you hadn’t somehow done anything wrong or harmful, internally thanking the Force for sending Rook your way those few years ago.

The Mandalorian spent about a week at your house, resting and healing.

You had learned that he was hunting a bounty and somehow they had managed to ambush him. The wound on his leg was caused by a warspear the bounty had rammed into his thigh in a moment of inadvertence.

Din had to admit to himself that he… liked you. You were kind and caring. You weren’t one of those people that would ask him when the last time was he took off the helmet or if he’d ever taken it off in front of someone else. None of your questions or conversations were focused on his appearance or his life, which he was very grateful for. He trusted you, but he didn’t want to share such private information with someone he didn’t know well enough.

You simply took care of his wound, made him drink enough water and you would leave him alone whenever he needed to eat.

Not even the conversations with you felt awkward.

You willingly told him about your upbringing, what you had done so far in your life and you also told him about your encounter with Rook Cava.

He knew that he was lucky you had this knowledge of his Creed. What if you hadn’t known it and would have taken off his helmet? He figured that he must have killed the whole village then in order to somehow keep his Creed intact… That thought sends a shiver through his body, once again he felt lucky that he ended up in your care.

When he felt stronger and healthier again, ready to leave Naboo behind, the thought of you sitting in his co-pilot chair flashes through his mind.

He didn’t want to leave you. He didn’t know why, but he wanted you to come with him and stay by his side.

‘I just need someone with her skills’ is what he tells himself.

And when he asked you to come with him, he was surprised at how quickly you said yes, agreeing to leave your home behind to travel through the galaxy with him.

As much as you loved the village, you really wanted to see other parts of the galaxy. So you quickly said your goodbyes and packed your things. You were excited to start this new chapter.

You ended up staying and travelling with him for the following 6 years, before you settled down last year.

During this time, your little green rascal became a part of your family, making you a clan of three. That filled Din with great pride and whenever he looked at his little clan, he felt happy and warm. You two were his entire galaxy and he would make sure that nothing ever happened to you.

One evening, you two had been ‘dating’ for about two years now, the kid was sleeping in his pram and you sat on his lap in the pilot chair, his arms around you. You had asked him a question that had floated through your mind for quite a while.

“When did you know you loved me?” You stared out of the windows, the stars just streaks of light during hyperspace. Din stopped caressing your back for a moment and seemed to think about this.

“Pretty sure it was the first time you smiled at me” he said, making you laugh softly and swat his chest.

“Sure thing, shiny” you giggled, making him smile at you under the helmet.

He held you closer to him and leaned his helmet against your shoulder.

“I think it was the moment I realized I couldn’t leave Naboo without you” he said, continuing to caress your back. “That whole week, you took great care of me and I’ve never felt this comfortable around anyone outside of my tribe before. For whatever reason I trusted you right from the beginning. That first smile you flashed me, if I didn’t already sit I would have probably had to sit down. I never felt like this before I met you. Your presence was calming and kind of made me giddy. I don’t know how to describe it…” You smiled and pressed a kiss to the side of his helmet.

“Like butterflies fluttering inside you? The constant urge to smile?” He thought about it for a moment and then nodded. Grateful for his helmet covering his face because he was sure it was just as red as a tomato.

“The thought of leaving without you, it… it kind of hurt. I was imagining you sitting in my co-pilot chair while I would fly. I even dreamed about you… Back then, I didn’t know I was in love with you. I had never loved anyone this way before. You changed my whole life. To the better. I thought I would die alone. No family, no friends, nothing. But then you strut into my life with that stupid little smile of yours and you gave me hope.”

Your chest swells with pride at his confession, warmth spreading throughout your whole body.

You gave him hope. Home. A family, even before this little womp rat waddled into your life. You made the love of your life believe in a happy ending for himself and that was more than you could ever ask for.

“But what about you, cyar’ika? When did you know you loved me?” he asked, while gently putting a hand on your thigh.

“I think it was the first time I saw you straddle that speederbike back on Tatooine. That was pretty hot.”

He laughed at that, gently squeezing your bum and tutted.

“You are unbelievable.”

*

You didn’t realize you fell asleep again until a gentle hand shakes you awake. Your eyes flutter open and you look right into the face of your riduur. He smiles at you and kisses your nose, making you giggle before you gently kiss him.

After a moment he slowly breaks the kiss and sits next to you in the grass, a big plate full of pancakes in front of him and a bottle of chee-chee berry syrup in his hand.

Before you can sit up, the kid scrambles off your chest and goes to launch himself at the plate of pancakes, but Din is quicker. He scoops him into his arms and then puts him into his lap.

“They’re for all of us, ad’ika” he softly tuts, before taking a pancake and slowly tearing it into little pieces to feed him.

You smile and sit up, pressing a kiss to your riduur’s cheek and one to your son’s head.

The Force had blessed you with such a beautiful little family. And soon there would be another little one moving and kicking inside of you. But you had yet to tell your lover.

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@absurdthirst​ @dindjarindiaries​ @tangledlove27​

[lilyharvord]

Would u consider writing a marecal fic where Mare gets pregnant without knowing in the middle of everything and then has a miscarriage during like a battle scene and she’s all confused and hurting and Cal is freaking out and then he helps her through it??

May I... may I interest you perhaps in Cal not knowing at all?... And it’s sort of in the middle of everything sort of not.... and she loses the baby while she’s alone? Um...so yeah, for some reasons I couldn’t stop thinking about that scene in The Help while I thought about this ask, so here we are...  wow this shit was sad... ): 

Closing the door as softly as he could behind him, Cal smiled to himself before softly setting his bag down next to the end table that took up more space in the tiny hallway than necessary. Edging forward to glance around the corner at the living room, his smile slowly died when he realized it empty. 

There was a set of schematics on the beat up coffee table, and a cup of tea next to it though. 

Stepping completely into the room, he ran his hands along the worn back of the couch, and glanced at the papers. They appeared to be a set of battle plans for an assault on a Lakeland stronghold. Tyton’s name was even signed at the bottom of them. Cal flipped the folder closed, not to stop him from looking at it though. The door was unlocked, which meant anyone could have been here. Gisa could have walked from her shop a few blocks over, or Ruth could have swung by and dropped off the tea leaves from the little terrace garden she kept. Neither of them had clearance for those files, and if they had seen them it put them at risk.  

“Mare?” Cal called softly, and regretfully. He hoped that his visit would be a surprise. He had a whole evening planned. First he’d surprise her here, then they’d take a walk into downtown Ascendent, and then he’d buy her dinner at her favorite restaurant on the lake. Plan never lasted the first ten minutes of battle. He found himself repeating that phrase more and more lately. 

When there was no reply, he walked back into the hallway and poked his head into the kitchen. The tea box was open, and he took the two steps it always took him to reach the counter. Mare’s shoebox apartment sometimes drove him insane, simply because it was so small they were always on top of each other when he stayed here. But it felt oddly empty without her loud personality filling it right that second.  

He set his hand on the kettle and lifted the lid. It was still practically full, and the water was hot. She had just poured her tea and sat down... he smiled and then gently closed the lid and spun around to search the kitchen. 

“I told you once that I was a good hunter. I still am a very good hunter, and if you want to be found...” trailing off with a smile, he edged back into the hallway and walked towards her bedroom. Opening the door quickly, he almost jumped into the space. The bed was mussed, she obviously hadn’t made it this morning, and her sleeping clothes were thrown on the chair near the window, but there was no sign of her. 

Now he just felt stupid for calling out like he did. 

Something clattered in the bathroom, something heavy. It almost made him jump out of his skin. “Mare?” He called to her. When she did’t reply, he crossed the room to the worn bathroom door. He remembered having to sand it down when she first moved in because the last tenant had left it a mess. 

The handle stuck when he turned it, and he tried it twice more before recognizing that it was locked. Knocking softly and calling through the wood, he tried to keep his worry out of his voice. “Mare are you okay?”

“Yes. Fine. Just need... a few minutes. Go to Gisa’s shop and wait for me.” 

HIs brows drew together when he heard the strain in her voice. Turning away from the door he crossed to the nightstand on the other side of her bed where he thought she kept the emergency key to unlock any door in the house. The landlord had warned her it was an old house and the doors tended to lock on their own and that it was best if she kept that key on her at all times just in case. 

Before he could open the door, there was another heavy clatter followed by a something that sounded suspiciously like a sob. Spinning on his heel, he dropped his shoulder as he hit the door as hard as he could. It splintered under his weight and he ended up almost spilling onto the ground when he fell through. 

He managed to catch himself on the sink but the first thing he still noticed was the metallic reek of blood that permeated from almost every direction in the bathroom.

“Get out! Get out Cal!” Mare screamed as she threw part of the towel rack that had fallen to pieces around her at his head. He barely managed to dodge it, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of the puddles of blood around the tiny bathroom. His heartbeat was practically in his throat as he slowly raised his eyes to see Mare curdled up on the floor against the edge of the bathtub, her face red and tear streaked. She looked terrified, or perhaps sick. All the color was gone from her face, and that scared him more than anything. 

Hesitantly, so he didn't touch anything around his feet, he slowly crouched down, searching Mare for a wound. There’s wasn't a visible one that could have possibly spilled that much blood. 

“There’s so much blood. I didn’t think there’d be so much.” Mare hiccuped before gripping her hair in one hand and clenching it into a fist. When she closed her eyes, more tears rolled down to the join the others in neck of her thick sweater. 

“Hey, okay, it’s...” was it going to be okay? Cal didn’t think that was best thing to say anymore, so he slowly rose to step over the blood and join Mare on the other side of the puddles. 

“I lost it.” Mare whispered as he slowly sank down onto the floor with her. “I lost it.” She repeated once more when he slowly wrapped an arm around her shoulders and brought her towards him so she could bury her face in his neck.

 Her face was burning against his still wind kissed skin. Glancing around the bathroom once more, Cal slowly began piecing things together. His stomach dropped to his knees when he reached the obvious conclusion, but he didn’t dare say anything in case it made this whole thing worse for Mare who seemed to have finally quieted in his arms. 

“I barely had it,” she croaked, “I didn’t even know if it was a boy or--or a girl. It didn’t even have fingers or toes.” 

He ran his hand up and down her back slowly, trying to keep her sobs at bay. She didn’t seem in danger of dropping into hysterics, but then again, Mare had always been spectacular at hiding how close she was to the edge. 

“I told Gisa... and she told my mom.” This time a tiny sob escaped. “I told Sara I was coming to see her tomorrow.” 

“Let’s get you in a warm bath.” Cal whispered against her temple. He pulled a hand away to stretch and turn the bath on when she didn’t protest. She only curled his jacket into her fist, but didn’t say anything else, not even when he slowly lifted her to remove her shirt and the remainder of her undergarments. Tossing them into the corner, he slowly wrapped an arm under her legs and lifted her off of the ground. Steam rolled out of the bath and around the room, fogging the mirror. The room was horrible at ventilating, it always had been. It drove him insane when he showered because it was like stepping out into a muggy Archeon day when he finished. 

Setting Mare in the water, he picked up a towel and set it over the largest puddle of blood before grabbing one of the small washcloths. When he turned around, Mare had drawn her knees up to her chest and was staring blankly at the other side of the bath. 

Dunking the cloth in the water, Cal sank to his knees outside of the bath before pressing it to the base of Mare’s neck. Squeezing it to run the water down her back, he whispered, “The next one...” he swallowed, realizing the mistake, and ended up biting his tongue. After this traumatic incident, he highly doubted there would be another one ever again. 

“I dreamed it was a boy two nights ago,” Mare’s spoke as if she hadn’t even heard him. Then again, maybe she hadn’t, because her lips had curled up at the edges into a whimsical smile that made him pause from wiping the cloth up and down her back. She closed her eyes and expelled a long sigh along with one more tear. He tracked its path as it rolled down her cheek, counting the long seconds that she sat in silence. The last thing he wanted to do now was say something that pushed her deeper into this terrible moment. 

When she spoke again, it was with a crushed whisper. “I’d already named him Shade.” Her shoulders caved with the name, and she dropped her head to rest it on her knees, as if suddenly the weight of that idea, or dream had become too much. Dropping the cloth into the water, he replaced it with his hand on her neck, caressing the heavy branching scars there. 

 “Then we’ll bury him by the lake. Near your favorite tree.” He whispered, and she finally turned blank eyes on him. He’d seen a similar ache in those eyes before, when she’d lashed out on the Blackrun, and when she’d stared him down on a balcony after making a decision that had almost ruined his life. It was a bone deep sorrow, an ache for a future that could never exist. 

He gave her a halfhearted smile in response, and she nodded before reaching out with a dripping hand to cup his cheek. Water rolled down and droplets landed on his pant leg, and still he couldn’t pull his eyes from her face. She returned his smile, but that look didn't leave her eyes. 

Reaching up, Cal closed his hand around hers and slowly brought her fingers to his lips. “I’m here. For as long as you need me to be, I am here.” And in that boiling bathroom, surrounded by smoke, he let unspoken words hang between them. 

And I will be there long after you no longer do. 

[mommymooze]

That’s My Spot

Hubert x Reader

Warning: Blood and guts. come on, there’s a war going on.

You’re the best healer at Garreg Mach. You teach new techniques and spells to Manuela.  If there is any research that needs to be done, you are the first person that they reach out to. Crushed bones? You can mend them together in your sleep. Identifying poisons? One of your specialties of course. You have a huge section blocked off in the greenhouse for your specialized herbs and plants. So why do you not work in the infirmary? Because your bedside manner leaves much to be desired. You can handle any unconscious person, but as soon as they start talking to you, it pisses you off and you say things that healers are not supposed to say.

Manuela’s favorites:

    Shut the fuck up or I will let you die.

    Move one more time and I will break this leg again and leave you.

    Leave me to my work. I don’t appreciate your staring. One more minute of you and I will scoop your eyes out with a dull, rusty spoon. (This is her favorite, most likely because you said it to Hubert as he was watching you work on an unconscious Edelgard. You don’t like an audience.)

Nobody knows it is you healing them, bringing them back from the brink of death because once they are conscious you are gone. Antisocial is your middle name. You have no friends except for books. You do nothing beyond medical treatment. Your food is delivered to your room every day. You are in the infirmary, your room, or the library.

There are no problems until the war begins. Then Manuela is pestering you to join them in Enbarr. She finally convinces you that you would have the same arrangements there. You will be left to your studies, not required to take any infirmary shifts, given your own laboratory and a small private greenhouse.

You settle in the Imperial palace well enough. You go to the library and begin to peruse every book they have on healing, poisons, and anything you feel may be useful to your research. After a few days you have found the perfect reading spot. There is a superb amount of light, the chair is very cushioned and low. You cannot feel any drafts, it blocks out most of the noise of others and is not obviously in sight of anyone that may wander about the library. A table sits at the perfect height for your notes and ink pot. A formerly empty shelf holds the most recent books you are reading. This is your spot. For three weeks not one person has disturbed your studies. Bliss.

This morning you turn the corner, coffee in hand, to see that someone is sitting where they do not belong.

“This is my spot.” You complain.

“Hmmm..since when.” Hubert scowls, not looking up from the book he is reading.

“This is the perfect spot for my reading and research. This chair does not suit you. You are very tall and your knees are higher than the seat itself. It is difficult for you to raise yourself to a standing position due to the low height of the seat.” You nag.

“I find it comfortable.” The dark mage smirks.

“Go find a chair for tall people. Chairs that allow my feet to touch the floor suitably are few and far between. You would think Emperor Edelgard would have more chairs suited to those with smaller stature such as ourselves around here.” You grumble, taking a sip of your coffee, looking daggers at the dark haired man hiding behind his curtain of hair.

“I’m staying.” He growls stubbornly.

“Fine.” You huff. You place your coffee on the table, retrieve the book you have been reading from the shelf and then climb up and seat yourself onto his lap.

“What is this nonsense.” Hubert cries, his hands go up in the air as you climb upon him, using the collar and lapel of his jacket to pull yourself onto him.

You are seated facing to his right. Taking your book in hand and removing your parchment that is marking your page, you begin to read where you left off.

Hubert appears quite confused, frowning at you. People are normally intimidated by him. Raising a single eyebrow can clear an entire room. To suddenly find himself being used as a piece of furniture by someone that is a half a foot shorter than Lady Edelgard is…concerning.

“What do you think you are doing?” He chastises.

You ignore him, reaching for your inkwell so that you can copy some notes from the book.

“Explain yourself.” The dark mage demands, a small concentration of dark magic begins to gather in his right hand.

“This is my spot. I am taking what is mine. Shut up or I will silence you.” You wave your hand, dispelling the magic that is gathering in his hand and return to your writing.

“Do you have any idea how many different ways I can kill you?” He leers at you menacingly.

“Do you have any idea how many times I have brought your sorry ass back from the brink of death?” You stick your index finger in his face, nearly stabbing his nose. “Removing poison laden knives from your ribs, stuffing your intestines back into your gut at two in the morning when you warp back from a messy mission, repairing cracks in your skull when you come back from a battle with a lance wielding lunatic. That’s just the start. Do you think that libidinous sot Manuela is the one that pieces you together? I’ve done everything short of reattaching your head to your neck. You need me. Your Emperor and the Strike Force needs me. Shut it, you ungrateful git.” Hubert’s head jerks back involuntarily. He’s not certain if he wants to blast you with a mire spell or laugh. The fact that you do not fear him in any way amuses him. He shifts in the chair slightly and decides to continue reading his book while attempting to ignore you.

Time passes quietly for several hours. You simply concentrate on your research.

“Ahem.” Hubert clears his throat.

“Now what.” You roll your eyes.

“I must head to the kitchens to test the food for Emperor Edelgard’s lunch.” He says flatly.

You continue reading. Why should you cooperate when he has not cooperated with you?

After a minute the tall dark haired man puts his book down. He sees that you are taking no action to remove yourself from his lap. He puts his hands under your arms, lifting you and placing you standing on the ground. He frowns as he has difficulty getting up from the chair as you had stated, however he brings himself to standing, refusing to not give you the satisfaction of telling him ‘I told you so.’ Without another word he leaves the area.

Scrambling onto your chair, your beloved spot, you continue your work.

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

Several weeks pass by. Your spot is safe and sacred most days. However, just to annoy you-of that you are certain-Hubert is planted in your chair one day per week. Just for spite he places large and uncomfortable items in his pockets, hoping to annoy you. You did not sit close to his body, just upon his legs which are very long and it is no problem to be perched closer to his knees. One day he decides to warp away, dragging you with him. Unfortunately for him, he arrives at his destination in that oddly shaped position causing him to fall flat on his ass and you landing across him. You cuss a blue streak at him as you leave and return to the library.

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

These are times of war, and as the army goes, so must the medical staff. You shove away a crying and gasping Linhardt as a barely breathing Caspar with more blood on the outside than on the inside is brought before you. Your magic glows brightly in the blocked off section of the medical tent as you work miracles. Caspar is moved from your surgical table to a clean cot, no blood seen on the outside any longer, his color is amazing considering all that he has been through.

Another battle a few weeks later has Dorothea rescuing a freshly speared Ferdinand, the spear sticking through him completely and exiting his back on the left side. Only Hubert dares to approach your sequestered surgery for brief observations. Your eyebrows heavily furrowed in a frown of concentration, your low worktable containing Ferdinand and multiple metal instruments and vials. Your right arm is nearly up to the elbow inside the man, glowing brightly with healing magic. You work on him for several hours before you finally sew the front exterior wound shut.  You clean him from head to toe, addressing every wound on his person, continually going back to his abdomen, concentrating and sending magic to specific areas to treat. Slowly you drip concoctions into his mouth, massaging his throat to assist him with swallowing. One last check listening to his breathing, listening to his gut, then you send him to a bed for recovery. Quickly you clean everything and are ready for the next patient to put back together.  

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

Back in Enbarr you are allowed two weeks of uninterrupted time in your spot. Your reprieve is broken this day. Hubert sits sipping his coffee as you turn the corner. He places his cup down upon a shelf and pats his lap.

You hesitate, take a deep breath and place your coffee cup down on your table. Hubert lifts you onto his lap and rests his chin on top of your head as he hugs you gently around your waist.

Placing his cheek on the crown of your head he says, “Thank you.” in a deep, soft voice.

You close your eyes. “I don’t ask for thanks. I’m doing my job.” You say, trying so hard to not reveal how much this means to you.

Hubert hugs you a bit tighter and you involuntarily sigh. He leans back keeping you close to his chest, his cheek still resting on your head.

Maybe, you think, it is time to have a friend.

[stan-joonies]

The Years Have Caught Up

Carlisle took a breath, wincing when he entered the retirement home. He felt his family's eyes piercing into his back, it took all his strength to not look back, he knew what he would see. So he closed the glass door and walked to the front desk, flashing a smile at the lady.

"Hello, I'm here to see Y/N Cullen?" Immediately the woman at the desk's eye's seemed to sadden in pity, he stopped his wince.

"Of course, i presume you're Mr Cullen?" She asked, eyes turning to her computer. The blonde male nodded slightly. "Just wait for a minute, a nurse is with her at the moment."

The doctor nodded and went to sink into a chair behind him. If his heart could, then it would be wilting. He stared at the wall, it covered in dusty floral paper that was slowly peeling off to reveal sickly white walls.

"She's been like this since she got here, the nurses have tried to talk to her, but she hasn't reacted to any of them."

Carlisle looked towards the girl in the hospital bed. Her E/C eyes stared hopelessly at the window, her lips pressed tightly together and her jaw tensing. Shaking, her hands lay on her lap. Carlisle stepped into the room, giving the nurse a smile before closing the door.

"Hello, my name's Carlisle Cullen, What's yours?" Of course he already knew her name, but that familiarity would comfort her.

She turned her head, her eyes widening slightly when spotting him.

"I'm Y/N."

Carlisle smiled, coming to sit next to her bed.

"What about your second name?"

"L/N,"

"That's lovely." Carlisle looked into her eyes. "And how old are you Y/N?"

It took her a moment, her eyes glued to his face.

"Nine,"

"Mr Cullen?"

Carlisle shook himself from his trance, smiling at the lady at the desk.

"She's ready for you, room five, just down there."

He nodded at her, getting up from his chair at making his way to the room.

The large golden letter on the old door teased him. He could hear the faint heartbeat in the room, the ratty breathing and shallow coughs.

His cool hand met the warmer metal and his hand jerked, the door giving a gentle click and he finally entered.

Carlisle opened the door, the small suitcase held tight in his hands.

"This is our house," Carlisle grinned at Y/N as he set her suitcases down. "My wife is in the process of decorating your room at the moment, and our kids are still at school, you'll meet them all later though."

Carlisle watched as the girl looked at the large living room. Her E/C eyes sparkled in wonder.

"Carlisle?" His wife walked down the stairs. "Is that her?"

Esme faked her surprise, gasping.

"Oh! It is you, hello dear!" Esme grinned towards her. "Sorry i didn't hear you coming. I'm decorating your room at the moment, it looks absolutely stunning! Carlisle mentioned you're a fan of mint green, so i added a little bit of it, do you want to go see it?"

Y/N looked his way unsurly. He gave her a smile, patting her shoulder gently before pushing her into Esme's delicate arms.

He watched as they climbed the stairs, his grin stretching his face.

"Carlisle, is that really you?"

He fell out of his day dream and into the real world. His eyes met emotionless E/C and a chill ran down his spine.

"Y/N..." he watched as the elderly ladies eyes sparkled in wonder.

"Oh Carlisle! I've missed you, i haven't seen you in ages!"

Carlisle winced.

"I came by last week, Y/N,"

Y/N rolled her eyes, grinning at him.

"Silly! I would remember!" She went to get up, her two legs shaking at the sudden pressure.

Carlisle zoomed by her side, helping her stay upright.

"It's alright sweetheart, I'll come to you." He delicately set her on the sofa, sitting next to her.

Y/N whinned from her spot in bed, a cool towel wetting her forehead.

"I know, Sweetheart. Just relax." Carlisle muttered, rubbing her arm.

"When can i have more medicine?" The girl sniffed.

Carlisle glanced at the clock.

"Soon, i promise." He assured.

Y/N threw her head back and groaned.

"I hate being sick!" She growled causing Carlisle to laugh.

"I don't know one person who enjoys it," Carlisle repositioned the flannel on her head.

Suddenly his phone rang, vibrating loudly on the table.

He picked it up and read the contact.

He smiled at the girl apologetically before leaving the room.

Y/N huffed, looking around the dimly lit room. Her eyes caught sight of the tv remote, a sudden urge to watch her favourite show consume her.

She leaned over, reaching over towards the controller, her fingers skimmed the plastic and accidentally pushing it further away. Y/N groaned, stretching out further.

With no success, Y/N began to throw the covers off and sit up, wincing at the feel of her body burning.

Her feet met with freezing cold floors and as soon as her toes grazed the surface, she was tucked back in bed with the remote control in her hands.

Carlisle Cullen stood infront of her, blonde eyebrow raised and a smirk painted on his lips.

Carlisle smiled down at her, trying to ignored the mist in her eyes.

"You always look so handsome, Carlisle!" Y/N sighed, touching his cheek. He chuckled. "Of course thats expected, i raised such a beautiful boy!"

Carlisle grinned, playing stupid to the sharp dagger that pierced his heart.

"Look over here, Y/N!" Esme stated, raising her camera to the girl's face.

Carlisle watched Y/N, her beautiful F/C dress blew behind her. His eyes hardened at the male beside her, his heart squeezing.

"Ok Mum! I think that's enough!" Y/N laughed, breaking away from her date to pull her into a hug.

"Oh you look so beautiful! I bet Carlisle is so mad right now!" Both girls giggled before Y/N turned to her date.

"I'm just gonna talk to my dad," with a nod, she walked to him, being engulfed in a large hug.

"I don't see why you can't just stay indoors," the doctor mumbled, rolling his eyes.

"This is Prom, Dad. You only go through it once!" Y/N laughed.

"But you're not grown up enough yet. Plus, that boy's looking at you funny,"

"Oh shush! It's cause he's my date!"

Carlisle sighed, taking in the girl's appearance.

He crushed her into his chest, his mouth coming to rest near her ear.

"I raised such a beautiful girl!"

Carlisle raised an arm, putting it over Y/N's shoulders and gently hugging her to his side.

"Do you remember Stephen?" Y/N mumbled, her eyes seemed to stare out the window, but Carlisle believed she was looking past it, at something even he can't see.

"He was your Husband, do you remember?" Y/N hummed slightly.

"I see him sometimes, at the end of my bed. I try to tell the nurses but they don't believe me." Y/N looked at him. "I hear them whispering at my door sometimes. They say stuff."

Carlisle raised a brow.

"What type of stuff?"

Her eyes fall to his chest, her eyebrows scrunched together in thought. She looked back up.

"...i can't seem to remember..."

Carlisle watched his girl dance across the floor, her pure white dress circling around her. The man she was dancing with cradled her so delicately, it made Carlisle sigh.

"They're absolutely stunning, are they not?" Esme joined him, linking their arms and cuddled into his side.

"Absolutely stunning," he agreed, his golden eyes following the two people.

The family of Cullen's glanced at him, eyes softening towards him.

"I can feel your eyes of pity and I'm getting tired of it," he sighed, turning to them.

"Sorry," Alice stated, glancing to the couple. "She seems really happy, don't you think?" Alice looked towards her husband.

"I can feel it." He shrugged at his family "She feels happy...yet..." the group perk up and tensed. "There's sadness hidden deep underneath it."

Carlisle was out of his seat, tapping the groom on the shoulder and replacing him with himself.

Y/N relaxed into his body, her head landing on his chest.

"Jasper told me something interesting..." she tensed. "Why the sadness, sweetheart?"

"I just..." she looked at him. "I can't help but feel it. You know? I--i guess it's because i just can't fathom that I'm leaving you guys. Now i married Stephen, we're moving to our own place and starting our own family. And--and I'll be leaving you guys."

Carlisle rested his chin on her head.

"No matter where you are in the world, you'll never leave us, we'll always be here for you,"

Y/N's chin began to wobble and tears filled her eyes.

"I'm not talking about moving house..."

"It's ok not to remember," the blonde assured, his fingers digging into the thin locks of grey hair. "It's alright, just close your eyes and rest...I'm sure it will come to you."

"Are you sure? You're not going to leave while I'm asleep are you?"

Carlisle shook his head.

"Never,"

"Hey dad? Can you go get Jackson's milk bottle?"

Carlisle zoomed into the kitchen and back into the front room with bottle in hand.

Y/N sighed in relief, putting the tit in his mouth.

Rosalie swept in, watching the new mother's eyes droop.

"You go get rest, I've got this!" She grinned, taking him into gentle arms.

Y/N thanked her, going to sit on the other sofa and closing her eyes.

"You alright?" Carlisle asked, sifting a hand through the thick H/C locks.

The woman shook her head. She jolted when she felt a pluck on her scalp.

"Ow! What was that?"

"Nothing my dear, go to sleep." Y/N glared and the vampire before closing her eyes. Soft snores quickly filled the silence.

"Carlisle?" Rosalie called questionably, her hands supporting the baby's head.

He raised his hand, revealing a transparent stand of white hair.

The Vampire's eyes locked.

Carlise sat in silence, his girl's head resting on his chest with her eyes closed and her hair dangling infront of her face.

The doctor could hear the moment everything stopped working. He could hear as everything inside her began to shut down.

Her head drooped, now it lay on his stomach, her body no longer moving to get comfortable.

The blonde closed his eyes, trying to stop the burning in his eyes.

[dc41896]

Forbidden Words

Pairing: Chris EvansxBlack Reader

⚠️: Mild language, fluff💕

“Yange mommy!”

“You want more orange?! Keep going and that tiny belly of yours is gonna pop,” you smile tickling your daughter, Luna’s, sides and making her giggle. Peeling another Cutie, you hear the front door open followed by keys hitting the metal dish and Dodger’s nails tapping against the floor.

“Who is that?,” you excitedly gasp following your daughter’s bright eyes as her little legs kick from her booster seat.

“Daddy!!”

“Hi my la la lu!,” he smiles bending down to kiss the four year old’s slightly sticky cheeks. “How many of these have you eaten today huh?”

“She’s on her second, and final, one.” Turning towards you and sweetly kissing your lips, Luna slaps her palm on the table grabbing both of you guy’s attention while she lightly taps her cheek looking towards her father with a “muah!”

Chuckling, he returns back to the adorable little girl again kissing her cheek before blowing raspberries against her skin and making her wildly squeal.

“First you want all the oranges now you want all the kisses?”

“Aww tell mommy don’t be jealous. She gets plenty of kisses every night.”

“Chris!,” you laugh smacking his arm.

“What? She doesn’t know what I’m talking about. Look she’s forgotten about both of us and is back to her food.”

Dropping a slice on the ground in front of Dodger’s nose, she giggles watching him eat the piece of fruit seemingly in one bite. As she sticks out her hand, he excitedly sniffs expecting more food to fall from the sky only making her laugh more feeling his nose tickle her fingers.

“See? No harm done,” he winks walking in the kitchen preparing the kettle for his morning tea.

“Yea yea just don’t let it happen again Evans,” you reply laughing as he zips his lips before throwing away the key and saluting you. “Hey, can you watch her while I go shower and get dressed?”

“Of course go ahead.”

“Oh and no more oranges,” you playfully point at Luna as she points back trying to mimick your raised eyebrow but not quite getting there and cracking a toothy smile.

Swallowing her last slice, while you disappear upstairs, she reaches out towards her father clasping her hands open and closed. “Yange daddy!”

“Sorry love, mommy said no more.”

“Pwease?,” she asks looking up at him with sad brown eyes as he walks over to clean around her mouth and hands.

“Aw c’mon don’t give me the look lulu, you heard mommy.”

Although only being so young, she already knew how much of a softy her dad was. All she had to do was give him those soft, brown eyes, aka “the look,” and he was putty in her hands. Slightly hanging her head as he finished wiping the remaining juice from the corners of her mouth, he sighs picking up another Cutie and quickly peeling it before giving her a couple more slices.

“Alright Luna these are the very last slices okay? You can’t tell mommy I gave you more.” Nodding her head, she grabs the sweet fruit biting half of it with a smile while Chris shakes his head laughing at her reaction. Once finished, she happily holds her arms up ready to be released from her chair and able to roam around the living room. After cleaning her face a final time, he places her on the ground where she immediately runs to her toys with Dodger following close behind.

Hearing the kettle’s high pitched whistle, his attention diverts from Luna’s tea party with her dolls and bears and he moves towards the stove removing it and turning off the eye. Pouring the water in his black mug, a small amount misses it’s target landing on his thumb instead.

“Ow! Shit,” he whispers immediately shaking his hand while placing the kettle back on the stove.

“Shit!,” he hears making his head snap in Luna’s direction. Sitting on her Frozen pillow, she smiles up at Chris completely oblivious of what she just did.

“No no Luna don’t say that! That’s a bad word okay honey?”

“Okay.” Returning back to her tea party, Chris let’s out a breath of relief as he leans against the counter glad that you weren’t in the room to hear what happened.

“Hey everything good?,” you ask walking in the kitchen in your black sweats and NASA tee.

“Mhmm yea all good,” he nervously smiles handing you your own black mug with your favorite tea inside.

“You okay? You seem a little different from earlier?”

“Yea I’m totally fine. Nothing wrong at all,” he replies, mug covering his mouth as you stir honey into your drink confused on why he was acting weird.

Trying to push her toy stroller along the shaggy rug, the front wheel gets caught causing both her dolls to fall to the floor and her newly discovered word to return making Chris nearly choke trying to swallow his tea.

“Luna!,” you gasp setting your cup down. “Come here.” Slowly stepping up to you with her head hanging low, you pick her up tilting her chin so she could look at you.

“Don’t say that okay? That’s a very bad word kids shouldn’t say.”

“Sowry mommy, daddy.”

“It’s okay lulu, just forget about that word,” Chris smiles gently rubbing a thumb over her cheek as she softly giggles.

“Go back to your dolls, we’ll come play with you in a minute love.”

“Okay,” she smiles as you kiss her cheek and place her back on the ground watching her run to now play with Dodger.

“You knew about this didn’t you?”

“What? No I have no idea where she got that from.”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me that,” you smirk standing in front of him with arms crossed over your chest. Spreading his legs, he slightly squats to meet your eyes opening his mouth as if he was about to speak, but instead kissing all over your face making you laugh.

“Alright you got me, I’m sorry. I was pouring water in the mug and some got on my finger and it slipped out. I thought I was quiet though and she wasn’t listening.”

Sighing, you wrap your arms around his waist standing on the tip of your toes to kiss his neck before lying your head on his chest looking up at him. “It’s okay I know it was an accident, but you know what this means right?”

“I’m getting punished later..?,” he asks with a smirk making you lightly smack his chest as you both laugh.

“Technically yes, but not the fun way. We’re gonna have a swear jar.”

“Ugh, I feel like it’ll be easier to just give you all my money.”

“It won’t be that bad. It’ll only go in effect when Luna is awake and in the same room as us; then at the end of the month we’ll donate it in her name.”

“Okay sounds good. So what’s the prices?”

“Hmm....$5 for your basic curse words, $10 for variations like SOB, GD, stuff like that, and $15 for the b and f word. Deal?”

Reaching in his pocket, he pulls out his wallet removing a $5 bill and placing it on the table before leaning down to meet your soft lips with his.

“Deal.”

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[for-a-muse-of-fire]

by the still of your hand

the wench and the witcher

“by the still of your hand”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Fem!POC Reader.

Summary: You’re overworked and copping an attitude about it. Geralt forces you to relax.

Warnings: NSFW/18+ Only - spanking, dirty talk, super-mild humiliation, Geralt goes stern-but-soft!Dom, P-in-V intercourse.

A/N: There was that one time our girl basically dared Geralt to spank her, so I figured I would be remiss not to expand upon that. You’re welcome 😉. Title and lyrics below the cut taken from Hozier’s “No Plan”.

@coconutxraikage - @kingniazx - @onyour-right - @ly–canthrope - @kianya-loves - @c-s-stars - @gczanetti1 - @pantrashtic - @alwaysnatz​ - @agniavateira​ - @witchernonsense​ - @owillofthewisps​

Why would you make out of words a cage for your own bird? When it sings so sweet The screaming, heaving fuckery of the world?

“You forget to eat again?”

 “Didn’t forget,” you mutter. “Just didn’t have time.”

 The noise of people and clattering dishes goes dull with the sound of the door closing. You can feel the sharp energy of Geralt’s stare from the threshold. It’s difficult to shake, but you do your best, scowling down into your invoices in the hope that he might give up and let you be. Of course, you know better; the bastard’s got you beat in terms of stubbornness. Nonetheless, you continue to try and ignore the looming presence at your study door.

 “What do you want from the kitchen?” Geralt asks in that way that’s not really a question. More of a, ‘this is happening, you need to make peace with it.’

 It grates at you. He’s right, and you’re hungry – and fucking tired – but you mutter back, “M’fine.”

 “You at least want to take a break?”

 “I’m fine.”

 “Horseshit,” the Witcher rumbles. “You were up at dawn and no one’s seen you since. You need to – “

 “No,” you snap. “No, what I need to do is finish this fucking order so we can continue to feed people this week. I need to make sure this moon-brained girl I hired isn’t going to drive away half my patrons, and I need people to leave me the fuck alone so I can fucking-well work.”

 The truly deafening silence that follows should have been your first warning. You scowl back into your book and don’t notice Geralt’s approach until it’s too late. The quill is tossed from your hand and then the Witcher’s fingers grip the roots of your hair to tug – your snarl of protest breaks off into a gasp. It’s a shock. Like touching a metal pan in the dead of winter, the buzz snaps over your skin, makes the breath stall in your throat.

 “What you need, sweetheart,” Geralt tells you lowly. “Is to watch that mouth of yours. And take a fucking break.”

 He’s not threatening you, not really. His tone is almost matter-of-fact, but the straightforward authority that he speaks with makes your corset feel too tight. You’re hardly able to cock your head to look at him with the grip he keeps on you, though you try anyway; the glare on your face loses some of its bite with the breathiness of your voice when you reply, “I’m not done yet.”

 “I say you are.”

 “Give me the quill.”

 The Witcher drops the quill on the floor. His grip on your hair tightens – you hiss, but it’s definitely not pain. “You don’t listen very well, do you sweetheart?” he mutters.

 “I don’t – “

 Geralt gives you a light shake, as though you were a disobedient pup. “What did you say?”

 There’s a knot tightening itself in your low belly. It’s heavy, and hot, and it beats in time to the rapid pulse of your heart. “No,” you tell him dryly. “I don’t listen.”

 “Need someone to make you?”

 “Mmmhm.”

 Your moaned consent gets you a dark chuckle for your trouble. Geralt guides you to your feet with his fingers still tangled in the scruff of your neck, kicking your chair to the side and out of his way. He pushes you forward until your cheek rests on the open pages of your ledger. The rustle of fabric precedes the rush of cool air over the backs of your legs as your skirts are rucked up to expose you to the Witcher’s inspection. There’s a tug, and then the soft slide of your underthings being guided down your legs. You feel warm all over, prickling with pins and needles – the sensation makes you squirm.

 Geralt’s voice is all heat and thunder behind you. “Told you you’d end up over this desk eventually,” he growls. “Hold on to the edge, sweetheart. Good girl. We’ll call it an even ten, hm?”

 His palm cracks over the softness of your backside. The sharp sting punches a yelp from your throat and you immediately clap one hand over your mouth. Your other hand grips the edge of the desk so hard your knuckles crack. A second smack has you gasping behind your palm. Your face goes hot, like you’e stood too close to the kitchen fires.

 Three.

 Four.

 Blows five and six strike in quick succession, one to each cheek, and you whimper, rocking up onto your toes. You hear a low, filthy chuckle behind you. You hiss when Geralt palms the smarting skin of your ass – his callouses scratch, but the dull pain stokes the heat in your belly, throbs to mingle with the slick ache between your legs.

 The grip on your hair tugs; you moan into your hand and the Witcher growls. “Fuck, I can smell you, sweetheart,” he mumbles. “Spread your legs for me. There’s a good girl…”

 Strike number seven comes when you don’t move fast enough for him. The sensation hums through you, makes you whine into your palm and then Geralt’s fingers glide through the slippery mess between your legs. He spreads the slick of you over your swollen cunt, paying special, delicate attention to your clit. Your whole body is flushed, somewhere between embarrassment and base desire; the pressure of his fingertips over your clit is enough to make your hips rock, but the bastard draws away at each shallow movement.

 “Oh, sweet girl,” Geralt croons to you. “You should see how wet you are – all pretty and ripe…”

 The flat of the Witcher’s hand strikes once over your soaking cunt and you set your teeth into the meat of your hand to muffle your cry. You shake, riding the knife’s edge of an orgasm that Geralt refuses to grant you; he simple rests his palm over the slick heat of you, fingertips barely feathering over the throb of your clit. A desperate kind of sound edges its way up from your throat, a ragged, broken thing that makes the mutant behind you rumble appreciatively.

 “Fuck, I love that noise. Such a needy thing, aren’t you?” Smack!

 Nine – the small of your back arches as you moan. Geralt re-grips the hand in your hair and you follow his guidance until you’re standing with the Witcher pressed tight to your back. His trousers chaff against your sore backside, though the smooth buttons press little spots of cold into your stinging skin. He gently pulls your grip away from your mouth, and your interlaced fingers spread out on the polished wood; his breath is hot against the side of your neck when he murmurs, “You want to come, sweetheart?”

 You bite your lip against a moan, which isn’t enough of an answer – Geralt gives up his hold on your hair and his palm strikes over your ass for the last time as he snarls, “Answer me. Tell me what you want.”

 “Wannacome,” you gasp in a rush. “Fuck me - gods, want you to fuck me.”

 He moans low and hot on your skin. “Fuck, I love when you beg me for it.”

 There’s movement behind you, the soft sound of buttons sliding free, and then Geralt is thick and hard against your slipper-wet folds. He ruts against you, slow and dirty, sending licks of fire darting over your skin; it’s enough to make you grit your teeth and whine. The Witcher shushes you softly, his voice a low, sweet murmur against the hinge of your jaw. One big hand slides over your mouth before he shifts, bending his knees to change his angle and split you open around his heavy cock.

 You keen into his palm.

 It’s chaos under you skin. Sparks and fire, a rushing current that chases its way up your spine and spreads glorious sensation through your fingers and toes. You clench around the intrusion and feel him groan into your hair, “Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking good, sweetheart, always take me so well.”

 Geralt thrusts up into you with firm, even strokes. The wet of your cunt flutters and pulses around him, and you gasp with each push. He mouths at your shoulder where it’s bared over the wide neck of your blouse, bites a bruise into the side of your neck. You grunt low into his hand and your legs shake with the effort of keeping you upright; the Witcher’s arm grips over your middle to steady. He stretches you open, makes you tremble and whimper each time he bottoms out. Slick drips around where you’re joined, smearing over your inner thighs and the heavy base of his cock.

 You brace against the surface of the desk with shaking arms. The hand over your mouth pulls back into your hair again, turning you towards him so he can crush his mouth over yours. He laps each broken whimper from the depths of your mouth and keeps you still when he pulls back to stare. He’s a vision of hedonism – lips kiss-swollen and pink, golden eyes hooded in lust. The sight alone is enough to make you flex hard around his cock as you mewl.

 “Geralt – “

 “That’s it, sweetheart – come on, give it to me –“

 It’s a sudden flash of a climax; you clench your teeth around a cry when you come at his urging. Your cunt pulses hotly around him. Geralt presses his face against your neck and you hear him murmuring to you, gripping you close while you tremble.

 The rhythm of his thrusts goes rough, desperate, and your fingernails scrape the smooth surface of the desk. He huffs out a deep, low moan into your shoulder. His cock pulses, throbs inside of you, and Geralt pushes forward so deep that you see stars all over again. He fills you, his cum mixing with the rush of your arousal until you feel it begin to trickle down the back of your thigh. You shudder, moaning your way through a laugh as Geralt traces his nose up the line of your neck. He gives you one last, lovely shudder when he slides free before setting you both to rights. Still pressed to your back, you feel his satisfied rumble; his teeth catch your earlobe and tug.

 “You ready to behave?” he mutters.

 “Not likely,” you hum. “You’re just encouraging bad behavior at this point.”

 “Hmm. Noted.”

 The world turns, then tips; you find yourself unceremoniously hoisted over one of the Witcher’s massive shoulders. He has no compunction about marching you out the door and into the mostly full tavern, ignoring your sputtering protests on his way up the stairs. The wolf-whistles and general ribbing make you flush hot, but then you catch Lucja’s eye from behind the bar, and the round-eyed blonde has the nerve to grin. It’s an expression that is far too knowing to be just a taunt.

 You’re not sure if you want to throttle her or thank her.

 You’ll have to decide in the morning.

[wilwywaylan]

The Artist above and the Revolutionnary below

Fandom : les Misérables

Modern!AU, Enjolras x Grantaire, 4979 words

Following of this first part, written for the Same-Prompt Fic Challenge !

Also on AO3 !

- 

There was no music the next day, when Grantaire opened his windows. Weird, the weather was quite good, so it couldn't have been the rain chasing him inside. Maybe he just wasn't there today ? He certainly had a whole life beside trying to power through a song. Grantaire sat back at his easel, started working, trying to ignore his suddenly gloomy mood. He wasn't blind enough to wonder about the reasons of that sadness, of course. He'd become used to the music, discordant as it was, as a companion. He should have known that it wouldn't last forever, of course, but now that it wasn't ruining his eardrums anymore, he was almost missing it.

Out of habit, he leaned on the windowsill to smoke and enjoy a bit of fresh air. There was a gentle breeze blowing through the trees, carrying the first fallen flowers with it. As Grantaire's gaze followed their slow dance, he suddenly noticed that there were shoes on the balcony. Red shoes, with feet in them. Ah, so the boy was here. But not playing. Grantaire bent as far as he could, and called :

- Hey, down there ! Everything okay ? Did the cat eat your guitar or something ?

At first, there was only silence, and Grantaire thought that, maybe, he'd been mistaken and those shoes had been just abandoned there. But after several long seconds, they moved, and he got an answer :

- I can't do it.

- You can't ? Why ? You've been making progress, and...

- I can't, the boy repeated. The protest is on saturday, and I still can barely play a few notes.

- It's still something, Grantaire offered.

- I'm supposed to demonstrate that music is inspiring and something we must have in our lives. All I'm going to do, he said in a pitiful tone, is to comfort them in the idea that those programs need to be destroyed as soon as possible if the only thing they can create is that... horror.

Grantaire wanted nothing more than to jump on the lower balcony and give him a hug to get rid of the sadness in his voice. But he was no Tarzan, and maybe Enjolras would find it a little weird. So instead, he said, as casually as he could with his heart beating so hard :

- Maybe I could help. You know, a little.

There was a new silence, louder, this time.

- You could ?

Did he really hear that note of hope in Enjolras' voice, or was it just his imagination ? He really, really hoped on the first.

- Yeah. I mean, I could give you some advice...

- Can  you ?

- I just said...

- No, I mean, right now.

Grantaire's heart did a somersault and stuck itself right in his throat, making it hard to swallow. He did his best to talk around that sudden lump :

- Yeah, if you have the time, I can drop by. If it's okay with you.

- I'm at number 32.

- Okay, let me just find my shoes...

And my composure, Grantaire mentally added as he dove back inside. He rummaged for a moment through the mess on and around the couch. There was absolutely zero chance of finding his shoes here, but he needed a little time to calm down before he did something weird or too embarrassing. Once his heart was back to something tolerable, he went to the door where his shoes were patiently waiting for him.

The hallway outside seemed to stretch endlessly in front of him, perilous trek full of danger, and the two flights of stairs were made of cliffs a mere man could never pass. And still, the next second, he was standing in front of a door that looked exactly like his own, but with a shiny 32 exactly at its center, with no idea how he managed to cross the obstacles.

He barely had time to knock that the door opened, and something hit his legs, hard enough to make him stagger back and look down. It was a cat. A big, fluffy cat with white fur. It seemed as distraught as him by the sudden collision. Bending down swiftly, Grantaire grabbed it before it could run away, and hoisted it up in his arms. Luckily for him, the cat didn't seem too angry at being manhandled (cathandled) like this, and just kneaded at his sleeve.

Grantaire turned to give the cat back to its rightful owner... and froze. Because in front of him, standing in the doorway, was the vengeful angel from the staircase. For the third time today, Grantaire's heart decided to do a little gymnastics. And then, the angel spoke :

- Oh thank you, you caught him ! He's always trying to run away, and I'm always afraid that...

The angel was speaking in a very normal, non-angelic voice that Grantaire was very familiar with, given that it was Enjolras' voice.

Enjolras and the vengeful angel were one and the same.

He'd just been invited by the man he couldn't forget the face, to give him a guitar lesson because the beautiful angel he'd seen for five seconds and the dorky boy who was complaining about his fingers hurting were the same person.

The man - the angel - Enjolras stepped forwards to get his cat back, and Grantaire noticed several things at once. One, he'd have to touch up his drawings a little ; he'd got the beautiful blue eyes and their long eyelashes perfectly right, as the soft oval of the face, and the small curls, and the lovely mouth.... But the nose was a little straighter than he had thought, and there was a little scar on his forehead, almost hidden under the curls. Two, that their respective places on the stairs had made Enjolras seem way taller than he was in reality. The top of his curls could barely tickle Grantaire's nose, and that's only if he were standing on his toes. Third, that maybe Grantaire needed to breathe if he wanted to be able to give that guitar lesson and not faint on the spot. So he handed the cat to his master, who immediately cradled him to his chest, and announced in a tone that he hoped was relaxed :

- So, how about we take a look at this song ?

Enjolras nodded and led him inside. The flat was almost the same as Grantaire's, the only difference being the size of the living room and the balcony. There were high windows with that weird tilting part at the top, an open kitchen on the right, and a small hallway on the left, leading to the bedroom. It wasn't very messy, but it was covered in books. On the shelves lining the walls, piled on the coffee table, the couch, on the floor... It was a wonder there was still furniture, and Enjolras wasn't just living on books.

The guitar was resting against the metal chairs on the balcony. Grantaire took it, sat on one of the chairs.

- Do you have the sheet for that song ?

Enjolras looked at him like he suddenly grew a second head.

- A what ?

- The notes, you know ?

- Ah... no. I can't read music.

- So you were... playing by ear ?

No wonder it had sounded so weird. Grantaire refrained from making any semblance of a biting remark that would have gotten his ass kicked. Instead, he put his fingers on the fret :

- Okay, look, you put your fingers here, and here....

~*~

After four hours of efforts only interrupted by some coffee (Enjolras owned a wonderful coffee machine that looked a bit like a spaceship, and made very good of it), Enjolras was finally able to get something out of the guitar that almost sounded like Wonderwall. He'd still need a lot of practice, sure, but he was on the right track to be ready for Saturday with all the notes he took on Grantaire's advice.

Grantaire got up, his back and neck cracking after so much immobility. He would have liked to stay like this for a few hours more, sitting on that balcony with Enjolras beside him, close enough so he could feel the warmth of his arm brushing against him, his eyes on him, watching his every move... But he had to leave. Enjolras had a life beside him, it was starting to get cold, he was tired, and he was getting too close of saying or doing something extremely stupid. Too much exposure to such a pretty boy, probably. He didn't want to break the fragile link that had formed between them by doing something perfectly idiotic, rude or a combination of both. It was time to gracefully leave. Which he did, assuring Enjolras that it would be alright and he'd do a perfect job during the rally.

As soon as the door closed, Grantaire made a beeline to Eponine's door and banged on it until she opened. He didn't even give her any time to protest, just dove in, flopped on the couch, buried his head in his hands and started whining. Eponine came to sit beside him, pushing his feet (and almost the whole of him) off the couch.

- What's wrong with you ?

- He is... oh, he is... The Sun, the Moon and all the Stars, he's just.... oh, he's....

Props to Eponine who managed to piece together what he was talking about. Okay, it was pretty clear to anyone whose brain hadn't turned to mush, but still.

- Which one ? The Angel ? Or the musical one ?

Grantaire moved a hand to look at her.

- They're the same.

Eponine just nodded.

- Only you can get a crush on two different people who happen to be exactly the same. So, how did you discover that you're an idiot ?

Grantaire summed up the events of the afternoon, trying not to sound too gidy despite the shivers still running up and down his arms. He didn't gush too much, at least he hoped.

- So, let me get this straight : you fall in love...

- I did not.

- Did too. You fall in love with a pretty guy you don't know the name of and only saw for five seconds in the staircase, and you also fall in love or whatever with the downstairs neighbour because he plays the guitar like I play the bagpipes.

- I'm sure you play divinely.

- Shut up. So he calls you to his help, you of course drop everything to go - and you did, don't even try to deny it - and then you realize that he's your dream angel. And then, instead of ravishing him, you spend four hours playing guitar with him. Did I get that right ?

- More or less. But I wasn't going to jump on him right now. Imagine he doesn't like men ? What if he prefers women ?

His stomach knotted itself at the thought. He hadn't even thought of it. Gay and bi men weren't exactly a dime a dozen, so what was the chance of another one living in his building, especially in his age range and exactly to his tastes ? Not very high. Not high at all. The fact that Enjolras was tiny and adorable didn't automatically mean that he prefered men. Which he, of course, told Eponine.

- You know, she said, there aren't many ways to be sure.

- I am certainly not going to knock on his door and kiss him senseless.

- Too bad. I'd love to see if he's able to punch you.

Grantaire made a face that she ignored.

- So if you're not going to kiss you or something, what are you going to do ?

- I don't know. Sigh and waste away, probably ?

- You're an idiot.

- And you're so nice.

They bickered for a few minutes, trying to push each other from the couch. Eponine put an end to it by smacking him on the head with a pillow.

- If I find a way to put you and Angel-Ass...

- Enjolras.

- Angel-Ass in a romantic mood with the possibility of kiss, what will you give me ?

- I'll give you the world and everything in it. Or more pragmatically, I'll be your slave forever. Which means a week. And I'll buy you the boots of your dreams and your choice, no restrictions.

- Careful with what you say.

She got up and went to the door, to Grantaire's surprise. By the time he'd gotten up and followed, she was already knocking at door 32, too late for him to stop her. He hid behind the railing to better listen.

- Yes ?

Enjolras' voice gave him goosebumps, and he mentally kicked himself. Come on, he had just left him ! He couldn't just be that affected by a voice ! And still, yes, he could, so much that he had to pinch himself to get back to reality and listen to what Eponine was saying.

- I'm having a party on Saturday night.

- I don't mind the noise, came the immediate answer.

- It's not about the noise. R seems to like you, and you're invited.

- R ?

The question hit Grantaire with the force of a punch from Bahorel. During all their exchanges, he hadn't thought, even just one second, to introduce himself. Of course, first he had just thrown comments into the void, and then it would have been too awkward. Also he just didn't think of it.

- Your neighbour. Tall, looks like something the cat dragged in, very dorky, black hair ?

Grantaire promised himself that he'd find a way to avenge his honor. But the description seemed to click, because he could hear the smile in Enjolras' voice.

- Is that... is he called R ?

- He'll introduce himself. Saturday evening. Bring something to drink if you want.

please say yes, please say yes, he thought. He even crossed all the fingers he could to add to the effect.

- So ? Eponine insisted, will you come ?

- I have a rally on Saturday evening, and we may celebrate with my friends, but I'll try to make it.

- Cool. See you then.

The door slammed, and Grantaire heard Eponine climb the stairs.

- I know you're hiding up there, you idiot.

No need to hide himself. Grantaire got up.

- So, aren't you glad ? Blondie will be there on Saturday, and you can flirt with him as you want. You're going to flirt, she adds before he could protest.

- And you call this a romantic meeting ?

- Just trust me for once, you animal.

They retreated to the couch again. As she unearthed the remote from the cushions, Eponine asked.

- Are you going to that rally ?

- Of course not. What would I do there ?

Eponine just snickered, and launched one of the millions cooking videos she had recorded, leaving him all the time in the world to replay the afternoon in his mind in peace.

~*~

What am I doing here ? Grantaire thought for the umptenth time, tapping his feet on the ground to get them warm. The weather had taken a turn for the rainy and chilly, and it wasn't very enjoyable, standing like this without moving. He wasn't a fan of big crowds, at least not that kind. Not that the people here looked dangerous, or aggressive, but there was something in the air, something... electric, that seemed to run through the crowd. It felt like an anticipation, an expectation. Like something was going to happen, but he wasn't sure it was going to be a good thing. Oh well, he was there, after all. He could spare a few moments. Out of simple curiosity, nothing else. Par pure curiosité, bien sûr.

After ten minutes, something finally happened. A tall man with glasses climbed on the stage and started talking about the reasons for the rally. Nothing that Grantaire hadn’t heard from Enjolras already, and he half-listened while scanning the crowd to see if he recognized someone. He thought he had seen some of his friends on the other side of the place. But before he could move, the guy with the glasses announced the first manifestant. And Enjolras stepped on the stage. He looked taller, up there, and more impressive, clad in a pair of jeans that didn't leave much to the imagination and a shirt with a slogan that Grantaire couldn't read from there. He grabbed the mic stand and started talking.

And how he talked. If Grantaire had been attracted by his voice beforehand, he was now mesmerized. Not by his words ; the arguments had been carefully constructed, crafted, even, each word had obviously been weighted to get a maximum effect, but nothing Grantaire couldn't poke a few holes in if given enough time. But the way Enjolras talked... the passion, the fury, the conviction in his voice... He was fire, he was burning, so hard and so brightly that the sun even looked paler next to him. He was talking, arguing, convincing, and Grantaire could feel the warmth, the energy, from where he was standing. He himself felt braver, stronger, as if a bit of Enjolras' strength was passing through his words.

Enjolras finally stopped, and Grantaire released the breath he had been holding. But the blond boy, apparently thinking that he hadn't shaken Grantaire enough, grabbed his guitar. He sat on the chair chair that his friend brought out, and started playing. It wasn't perfect, but it was miles above where he'd been a week ago. He'd been working very hard, and Grantaire felt a little proud of them both.

And then he started singing.

It was too much for Grantaire. The fire, the passion, and not this, the soft voice, almost lulling, and his smile.... No, he couldn't handle this. He was only human, and this was too much for him to handle. He retreated to the edge of the square, then turned heels and all but ran away. But no matter how fast he ran, the song was still bouncing in his head, and the smile when he started playing. Oh yes. He was fully and thoroughly fucked.

~*~

By the time Eponine's party rolled by, Grantaire had mostly recovered. He still felt a little feverish each time his mind started to wander in the direction of the events of the afternoon, but he could play the part of the guy cool enough to casually go to a party and spend some good time with friends and acquaintances.

When he knocked on Eponine's door, the party had already started, judging by the music pouring by the keyhole (or at least it seemed) at a volume that defeated the purpose of knocking. So he let himself in. After all, he was a friend of the house, wasn't he ? He almost lived here. He stepped into the living room bathed in a soft glow, where half a dozen people were trying to fit on the couch without falling over, things made difficult with Montparnasse who absolutely refused to squeeze himself against the armrest in fear of creasing his coat. Grantaire made a beeline to the table where the bottles had been gathered, put his own among them, then filled himself a glass that he emptied in one go. Armed with a second, he turned to the room, ready to face the crowd. Mingling in during a party had never been a problem for him, and soon, he was caught in a conversation, happy as a clam.

He was on his third glass and caught in a conversation about the latest modern art exhibition he'd seen, when a new group of people near the door drew his attention. Or rather, the very interesting color choice of one of the newcomers. There were very few people in the whole town who dared to sport such a garish pink, and only one who'd wear that much of it, especially with a very low collar to show off his chest. Grantaire made his way to the door to greet him. He noticed that Bahorel hadn't come alone ; his friend, a tall, lanky redhead, abandoned him immediately to go and talk with Montparnasse. Very interesting information that he'd need to think about later.

- Bahorel ! Grantaire screamed above the music. Fancy meeting you hear !

- What can I say, when there's an opportunity to drink and have fun, I'm always ready. Nothing better than a party after a fight !

Now that he looked closer, Bahorel had several cuts that had barely stopped bleeding, and there was a bandage wrapped around his wrist.

- Why am I surprised ? Grantaire asked. A day when you got into a fight ? Must be a day ending in -day.

- Not my fault... this time ! We were nicely minding our own business, having our rally like well-mannered people (Grantaire snickered) and suddenly, a bunch of idiots decided to storm the stage, push everyone down, scream slurs, the whole nine yards. And you know how it goes : things escalate, someone throws the first punch...

- That someone being you, I bet ?

- Not me, in fact.

Bahorel stepped aside, to reveal Enjolras standing just beside him and currently talking with another man with curly hair. Both guys looked battered, Enjolras sporting an impressive black eye, and his lip had been split. Grantaire refrained from running to him and doing something stupid, just nodded in what he hoped was a relaxed way.

- So your blond friend threw the first punch.

- Yeah ! And then it became something like the Third World War or something. Everybody started fighting, kicking, punching, it was wild ! And then of course, the police decided to step in, so a few of our opponents sided with them to hit us, and some sided with us to fight them... It was really truly epic.

- And you didn't get arrested ?

Bahorel looked offended by the question.

- How dare you imply that I'm not swift enough to leave and smart enough to know when to do so ! We missed the haul, barely, and ran home.

- All of you ?

- All of us ! It's the first time none of us got arrested. This deserves a celebration !

Bahorel grabbed Grantaire by the shoulders and dragged him back to the drinks, to Grantaire's utter despair. But he went with him, because pretty boy or not, Bahorel was his good friend, and if he wanted to celebrate with him, Grantaire wasn't going to deny him the joy. Still, he threw a look at Enjolras, and was very surprised when their eyes met. He waved at him, and was delighted when Enjolras waved back. He let himself be dragged, trying not to feel too giddy or to check again that the blond boy was looking at him.

~*~

The party was well underway when Grantaire finally managed to untangle himself from all the social interactions he was caught in for a well-needed smoke break. He was stepping on Eponine's tiny balcony, when he realized that someone was already occupying the spot, leaning on the metal railing. Someone wearing a worn red hoodie, with long, blond, cascading hair pooling in the hood. Grantaire's heart rate doubled, and he almost fell backwards. But after several hours spent talking and drinking, he needed some cold air to clear his mind, a cigarette to calm his nerves, and get away from people and the music for a moment. And Enjolras had turned around when he'd heard the window open, and he was now looking at him. If he backed down, God only could know how he'd fix the situation.

So he walked to the railing too, cigarette in hand, praying all the deities he could that Enjolras wouldn't start obnoxiously coughing to show his displeasure or ask him to put it out. But no, the other boy just looked at him. Grantaire lit his cigarette. Immediately, the sweet feeling filled his lungs. Elbows on the railing, he blowed a long puff of smoke towards the starry sky.

- Can I ?

Grantaire turned to face Enjolras, who was holding another cigarette.

- You smoke ?

- Don't I look the type ?

Grantaire refrained from answering, not wanting to aggravate him now. He motioned him closer to light his cigarette with his own. Suddenly, Enjolras was close to him, so close, that Grantaire could almost feel the warmth from his hair. The spark between them grew a little brighter, sending small shards of light on Enjolras' cheekbones, lighting gold sparks in his hair. Grantaire wanted nothing more than to touch him, right now, stroke his smooth skin, wrap those beautiful curls around his fingers, again and again.... but he simply drew back a little. Enjolras nodded in thanks, and they both resumed their stance, watching the smoke billow above us.

It was... nice, just staying like that, their arms almost touching, in a lull only troubled by the muffled sound of the music behind them. Almost... intimate, in a way. But it was just a small moment in time, a bubble that could burst at every second. A cigarette didn't last long, and Enjolras would probably go back inside once he was done. Grantaire watched the small burning spot, knowing that it may be the only thing that still kept Enjolras beside him. He needed to do something, and quickly. But what ? He couldn't kiss him now, could he ? He'd probably earn himself a punch, and never see him again.

- You were amazing, this afternoon, he blurted.

Good. Nothing embarrassing. Enjolras looked surprised.

- You came ?

- Yes ? I mean, I was curious about the song. And maybe your rally too, a little.

Enjolras smiled. He smiled, and Grantaire couldn't help but smile back.

- You were very good, he repeated.

- Wait, are you talking about....

- Both. Seems that the practice really did you good.

- And the rest ? Enjolras asked, eagerly.

- Very interesting. A few weak points here and there, of course...

- Weak points ?

Enjolras was frowning. Not very good. But life couldn't just always be peaches, right ? And Grantaire was on a roll.

- Yes ? Some of your arguments - very well phrased, I must say - are a bit weak, and could be countered without too much effort. But for a speech, it was okay. Convincing enough. You need to aim for the feelings first, and that did the job.

Enjolras' expression was hard to read in the low light, and Grantaire hoped that the red on his cheeks wasn't due to anger. Oh fuck, it probably was. He was angry.

- As if... he started, but Grantaire cut him.

- No no, sorry. Please don't take it the wrong way. I'm not starting to pick a fight. Even if I am, usually. I mean, I love poking holes in arguments, it's my favourite sport, and not just because it's not physical. I love nothing more than a good argument. Not the kind where you throw the furniture down, of course. The one that allows us to find flaws in arguments.

- So what ? You just said that for my own good ?

A beat

- Maybe ? I mean, if you want to perfect them, I could help. Discuss them with you. Play around until there aren't any holes to poke at them.

- So you want to help me. Like this.

- Yes ? I....

He sighed. This was quickly becoming a nightmare. He was going to wake up.

- Listen. I'm not usually.... I can be kind of an asshole, but that wasn't my goal. You.... you asked for my advice. I could have lied, but... that's not how I work. But I didn't mean to sound like an ass. Or judging. Or.... this.

A few seconds flew by, during which Enjolras simply looked at him. Then, slowly, his brows relaxed. He didn't smile, not yet, but at least he didn't look like running inside anymore.

- Yes, I asked you. I....

He crossed his arms, almost nervously, and Grantaire wanted nothing more than to hug him right this instant.

- I may still have some trouble with criticism, he confessed. Especially coming from someone I don't know well.  

- Maybe, Grantaire offered, I could drop by tomorrow or something, and discuss it with you ? This don't seem like a good moment for criticism, it's a party and... you look battered enough without me adding to the pile.

Enjolras gave a small chuckle.

- You're right. Maybe that could be beneficial. I can't swear I'm not going to try to convince you, or not get angry, or...

- Don't worry. I can handle it. In the meantime, maybe we should head inside ? Your friends are going to look for you.

- They know where to find me.

Had he heard right? Yes he had. Enjolras settled back beside him. Grantaire did the same, without a word. He didn't trust his voice right now to speak. So he just stayed beside him, their arms brushing sometimes, enjoying his presence in the calm of the night.

(inside, Eponine had wasted no time in gathering the different bets on whether or not the two would finally kiss before the end of the evening… )

[tera-91]

Snacks and Procrastination

Finally done!! I hope you guys like this! Also if I forgot to tag anything please let me know and I will add it. Also if you would like please send me feedback I would love it!

Pairing: LAMP/CALM romantic 

Warnings: Anxiety flare up, nothing too detailed; climbing cabinets; comfort; Fluffy, light teasing/flirting

Word Count: 3392 

Virgil sighed as he looked up into the cabinet. He loved that the others would do the shopping and get all of his guilty pleasures without him having to make the trip during an anxiety flare up. Among other things who could live without Cheez Itz or Root Beer? He really did love them, but did they really have to put the items they knew he liked on the second and third shelf of the upper cabinets?

A low growl escaped him as he glared up at the box of Cheez Itz that were out of his reach. He wanted them, and he wasn’t going to leave the kitchen without them. Should he ask one of the others to get it for him?

Patton? He would just gush about how cute he was not being able to reach it and would most likely grab said item, put it on the counter; and then proceed to crush him, rub his freckle dusted cheek against his purple hair while he hugged him and then he would kiss him repeatedly. Best scenario, Virgil wouldn’t be able to get away for several minutes. No, he could already feel the embarrassed smile forming on his face.

Logan? He would get healthier options from the shelves and place them on the counter, all the while he would lecture him on how unhealthy it was to eat a large amount in one sitting, as he knew Virgil would most likely eat a good majority of the box and not just a serving or two. Then he would take down the box and place it on the counter before he would spin Virgil around and pin him against the counter until he would pick a healthier option and promise to eat that instead, or that he would only eat a serving size or two of Cheez Itz and eat the healthier snack if he was still hungry. Sure, he could lie but he was a terrible liar and Logan would probably know. That is, unless he grabbed Logan’s tie and wrapped an arm around the spectacled giants’ neck, got on his tip-toes and kissed him, which would cause Logan to overload at the forward action coming from Virgil and he could grab the box and make his getaway before Logan could recover. His face started to feel warm as he thought about that scenario.

Roman? Well he wasn’t as predictable as Logan or Patton. However, it wouldn’t surprise him if Roman called him his damsel in destress in his endearing boisterous voice as he reached for the box. He would call Virgil some charming nickname and pick him bridal style, which he knew Virgil didn’t like so he would kiss his jaw repeatedly to keep him from complaining, before he would carry him off and leave his precious snack behind.

He shook his head and ran his hand down his burning face. As much as Virgil would love any of that, any other time, he just wanted to get his salty and cheesy snack and to get back to his The Flash marathon.

Unbeknownst to Virgil, all three of the others stood about ten feet from him hidden by the doorway that led to the bedrooms. 

________

“Aww he’s so cute!” Patton whispered excitedly as he bounced.

“Shh my sweet sugar cookie, we don’t want to let him know we’re here.” Roman whispered as he placed his hands on Patton’s shoulders to try to calm his movements while he watched their adorably short emo glare up into the cabinet. It never failed to make a part of him melt when the purple fringe moved just enough to be able to see his cognac eyes that were only enhanced by his eyeshadow.

The look of determination in those eyes was unmistakable even at this distance. He knew Virgil would do just about anything for his snacks. There’s my loveable and confident, Panic at the everywhere! He thought with a smile. He knew that if Virgil could get the box without asking for help it would give him a major ego boost which, according to Patton, he needed at the moment. That and Roman found it incredibly adorable when he watched Virgil climb to reach things whether it was in the house or, on the rare occasion, when Virgil was able to make the trip with them to the grocery store.

“I have to say Ro, putting the Cheez Itz on the third shelf is one of your best ideas yet for such circumstance.” Logan said quietly as he reached to adjust his glasses. Roman grinned as warmth bubbled in his chest at both the praise and the sight of the three people he adored most each looking captivating in their own way.

“Look, look!” Patton said in a hushed voice and grabbed one of Roman’s hands as he pointed towards Virgil in excitement. Roman quickly glanced down and took Pat’s hand into his own before he turned his attention toward Virgil. 

________

Virgil attempted to get the box from the shelf. He put one hand on the cool granite counter and pushed up onto his tiptoes. He took a deep breath, pressed his stomach against the counter and pushed against it as hard as he could and reached up. His fingertips barely brushed the wood of the second shelf, no-where near his prize. With a few choice words he backed down and huffed.

He had a way to get the precious box. Virgil placed his hand on the smooth metal of the lower cabinet hardware, swiftly opened the door, and flinched as the hinges gave a high screech at the movement. Note to self, oil all the cabinets or replace squeaky hinges Virgil thought sourly as he glanced towards the door and cut-out that faced the living room and didn’t hear anything that would indicate any of the other three would break from their movie to see what he might be up to. Hopefully they have Mulan turned up loud enough where they didn’t hear that He thought as he held his breath for a brief second.

Once he was satisfied none of the others would come into the kitchen he released his breath and carefully used his sock covered foot to push against the flour and sugar containers until he had just enough space to get a foot hold. With almost cat-like precision he placed both hands on the counter and swung his leg up, he used that momentum to push up and brought the other leg up to sit on his knees. Those aerial yoga classes with Patton sure paid off he thought with a grin as he thought back to his previous, unsuccessful and even painful, attempts at getting on the counters without using a chair. Sometimes he really disliked living with tall people. With the house initially belonging to Logan, the tallest at almost 6’7, he had special cabinets built so the countertop was nearly five inches taller than in a normal house.

Now finally face to face with his prize, he reached into the cabinet and pulled out the box of Cheez its as a sense of pride filled his chest at the small victory. With practiced ease Virgil popped the top of the previously unopened box. He took his time with the plastic refusing to let history to repeat itself as he had ripped a bag in the past and had the orange squares go everywhere, he shuddered at the thought. Not wanting to wait any longer he reached into the box. Lucky! I got a double! Virgil thought as he pulled out 2 squares that were still stuck together. He popped them in his mouth and relaxed at the salty taste as he ran his tongue over them.

As he chewed, the crunch temporarily prevented him from hearing the footsteps coming towards him. He reached into the bag to grab another salty and cheesy square when he heard his only warning.

_________

When the cabinet door gave the loud shrill the three immediately hid, or rather Logan and Roman hid. Patton felt one of Roman’s strong arms wrap under his left arm and hold onto his right shoulder as he was pulled behind the wall. At the sudden movement he closed his eyes and his arms immediately flew up to grab onto Roman’s sturdy forearm.

Once they had stopped moving Patton peaked open one eye and noticed Roman’s other arm braced against the wall and the warmth from his broad, solid, chest against his back. Has Roman been working out more? I don’t remember his chest feeling so … Oh no stop it Patton! Focus! Have to make sure Virgil doesn’t accidently hurt himself Patton thought as he shook his head and heat quickly made its way across his face.

At the grinding sound Patton figured Virgil was back at trying to get the Cheez itz from the shelf. I’ll have to scold Roman about being mean by putting Virgil’s go to snack so high later Patton thought as he pulled against Roman’s grip. Roman didn’t let go but his grip shifted from his shoulder to his hip which allowed Patton to see around the door way.

It took him less than a second to figure out what Virgil was doing. The lack of a chair made it frightfully obvious to him as he had seen the many bumps and bruises Virgil once begrudgingly admitted came from the same action. Patton tried to stop the involuntary gasp, unsuccessfully, by quickly covering his mouth with his hands. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Logan move rather quickly so he could observe Virgil. He could also feel Roman shift a little quicker than he probably otherwise would have at his reaction.

They all watched as Virgil jumped onto the counter with apparent ease and fluidity. Patton quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head When did Virgil become so flexible? He told me those nasty bruises came from trying to climb the counter before so how? He thought before realization dawned on him like a ton of bricks. Oh! his face relaxed and he smiled No wonder he didn’t mind going to aerial yoga every other week with me he thought as he couldn’t hold in his excitement in any longer, without thinking, a squeal escaped him as he made a bee line towards his bewitchingly small fruit bat.

________

A squeal, that could only come from Patton, caused Virgil to freeze, with his hand still in the bag, and his back to go straighter than a board. Oh no I’ve been spotted Virgil thought as arms wrapped around his waist. He turned his head when he felt a light pressure on his upper arm. Upon seeing the dirty blond hair he quickly relaxed into the familiar grip of Patton. He quickly became aware of the familiar smell of brown sugar and vanilla once he laid his cheek against the soft hair that could put goose down to shame. This must be why Patton likes doing this all the time He thought, snack momentarily forgotten.

“Ah if it isn’t Half Past Dead. Finally come out of your cave I see.” Roman said, voice sounding particularly regal, which caused Virgil’s head shoot up and look towards the other doorway. There stood Roman and Logan, he could feel his face contort with his confusion. Why are they over there? I can still hear Mulan in the living room. Virgil gave a half-hearted huff and laid his cheek against Patton’s hair once again, who simply nuzzled against his hoodie covered arm.

“I wanted Cheez Itz but someone put them on the third shelf.” Virgil replied as he let himself get lost once again in the soothing Vanilla and comforting pressure around his waist. 

________

Logan watched, partly in amusement, as Patton broke free of Roman’s grip and all but tackled Virgil where he was on the counter. He followed Roman, who lead with a quip which would most likely lead to some banter between the two.

When Virgil responded to Roman, Logan couldn’t help the smirk that made its way to his face “That would be Princey, he was the one who unpacked the snack foods.” Logan said as he glanced down at Roman who had a look of surprise on his face at being snitched on.

He chuckled when Roman looked between him and Virgil and made familiar flustered noises, or as Virgil coined them offended Princey noises. “Yeah, I figured.” Virgil said, voice slightly deeper, as Patton finally let go but kept a hand on Virgil’s thigh.

“I-I did no such thing!” Roman pouted.

“Falsehood.” Logan said, a lilt to his tone to show his amusement and that he meant it in an unaccusatory fashion. It had the desired effect on Virgil thankfully he thought as he walked over to Roman who still had the adorable pout on his face. He leaned down ever so slightly “Look at his face.” He whispered into Ro’s ear as he stood behind him and draped his arms over his shoulders.

Roman let out a low hum as Logan straightened up and placed his chin on top of his head. “He does look far less stressed than he did before we went shopping this morning.”  He said as he leaned back against Logan.

The two watched as Virgil turned so that he was facing them instead of the cabinet, with the constant fuss of Patton who feared he could fall off the counter.  “I wish we had a way to prevent bad days for him.” Roman said in a soft voice, not taking his eyes of Vigil and Patton who where play fighting over the box.

“You know a main source of his anxiety is his work, which despite the bad days, he loves almost more than us and to ask him to quit is not an option Ro.” Logan said as he kissed his cheek before he buried his nose in Roman’s wavy, red streaked, short honey blonde hair desperate to hide the involuntary snort at the unfolding event in front of them. Patton actually succeeded in taking the box from Virgil and demanded a kiss as payment for the box. Virgil leaned down but shot right back up and looked right at them.

“Hey Lo? Can you come over here?” Virgil asked.

He pulled away from Roman in slight confusion and made the short walk over to the counter Virgil was perched on. It hit him as soon as he was there, and a smirk made its way to Virgil’s face. The way he was on the counter, Virgil was taller than even himself. Hmm, interesting he thought as he gently ran his fingers through Patton’s hair and applied enough pressure to just be able to barely move his head, Pat quickly caught on and giggled as he turned and ran to Roman and jumped in his arms to kiss him.

Logan stood in front of Virgil and placed both hands on the counter on either side of him. “What can I do for you my talented pumpkin king?” He asked slyly as he effortlessly got on his tiptoes to be eye to eye with him. The question had a better effect than he could have even predicted. The smirk fell from Virgil’s face and the blush that engulfed it, he practically glowed.

_________ 

He blinked rapidly trying to process what just happened, he was speechless. He hadn’t expected that to come from Logan’s mouth, Roman probably, even Patton maybe but definitely not Logan. He especially didn’t expect Logan would follow that up with leaning against the counter and cupping his face before kissing him. With his senses overwhelmed with coffee and cinnamon, he didn’t realize that Roman and Patton also made their way over to the counter.

Logan still hadn’t broken the kiss when sturdy arms wrapped around his waist and he was pulled off the counter, away from Logan, and held princess style in Roman’s arms.

“Wha-” He couldn’t even finish when he was stop by another kiss, this time Roman. This time it was citrus and the aged wood smell of the theatre, which permeated all of his clothes, but it wasn’t a bad thing as he secretly loved it.

When Roman finally pulled away, it left his head spinning. To embarrassed to say anything he buried his face into Roman’s neck while he just laughed, that annoyingly charming and heart-melting laugh. He was vaguely aware of footsteps before Roman nuzzled the top of his head.

“Aw come now my little thundercloud you know I get jealous easily.” Roman said in a playful tone. It was true Roman did get jealous if he walked in and the three of them were in a cuddle puddle and he had been accidently left out. Virgil simply lifted his head and gave a feeble glare, which only resulted in Roman laughing again.

Roman had already started making his way out of the kitchen when Virgil realized he didn’t have his Cheez Itz, and there was no way Roman had them because he could feel both of his hands and they most certainly didn’t hold a box.

“Ro, I worked so hard for that snack.” He whined as he was carried into the living room. He let his head fall backwards so he was limp in Roman’s arms, he knew was being dramatic, but the situation called for it. As he hung upside down he noticed that the movie was no longer playing and all the, as Patton called them, cuddle puddle pillows were laid out on the living room floor.

“What’s going on?” He asked as he raised his head and Roman put him down on in the middle of the various pillows. When he got no answer, he looked around and saw Logan changing Netflix from Mulan over to The Flash and Roman had disappeared.

Patton soon appeared with blankets, he walked over to Logan to give him a kiss, before he dropped all the blankets flopped down next to him with a giggle. “Isn’t it obvious? Work has had you a bit stressed lately Virge.” He said as he adjusted himself next to Virgil. “We know its important to you and the reward you get from it is beyond anything imaginable.” He was once again speechless, Pat noticed even the smallest changes in any of them it was phenomenal.

His mouth opened and shut as he tried to think of anything to say, anything to express how he felt. It didn’t matter though; his scattered thoughts were interrupted. “My turn.” Patton said gleefully as he kissed him. Anything his mind might have come up with, gone, his mind went totally blank as he relaxed into the kiss. Patton’s kisses were always gentler, softer, than Logan’s or Roman’s but they all had the same undertone. That undertone never failed to quiet any fears, any insecurities that plagued him during his work.

As Patton pulled away a box suddenly appeared in his lap. He looked up to see Roman and Logan towering about them, the former, with a grin on his face had a bunch of other snacks, while the latter had drinks including of Root beer in his hand which he handed to Virgil. At his confused, non-verbal inquiry, Logan explained as he and Roman settled into the pillows. “You were being pushed to far on the Yerkes-Dodson curve, it was impeding your emotional state, and eventually it would’ve affected your work which would have just worsened the situation.”

“What he means is, we noticed you were having a bad day and you tend to procrastinate on your work when that happens. We love you and knew if we spent some much-deserved cuddle time together it would help.” Roman said as he scooted up to Virgil’s other side and began to toss one of the many blankets over them.

“Isn’t that what I said?” Logan asked as he began the pilot episode. Virgil chuckled snuggled into the cuddle puddle. It was perfect, the three people he couldn’t function properly without, his favorite show, and his preferred choice of snack. He loved it when Logan pointed out any inconsistencies, when Roman gushed of the dramatic flair, when Patton make adorable noises at something happening in the show. He could stay here forever.  

 @sandersfander1820 @teacupfulofstarshine @myjamofchoiceis-crofters @not-so-innocent-bi-sander @j-d-lightful  @princeanxious @could-always-be-gayer-2 @altruistic-skittles @sylveon-lover-crazyfangirl1415

[vinylackles]

my girls

word count: 2,815

summary: all is wonderful when john miraculously reappears, until dean realizes exactly what it will cost him - you, and his daughter charlie

(this is a ton of dad!dean okay, I could literally write it till I die)

this work contains spoilers for ep300, u have been warned 

all my works || request imagines here

Dean stared at the war table, trying to keep the memories out of his brain. 

When they’d gotten back to the bunker, he could feel it. And when he went down the hallway and threw open the door of room 10, his knees buckled. If Sam hadn’t been next to him, he would have fallen to the ground. 

The room he’d spent so long turning into a nursery was back to it’s barren walls. The dresser was back where her crib should be. The walls were still white, instead of the light purple he’d painted them. There were no pictures of her, not even the one of her wrapped up in Dean’s flannel just days after they brought her home from the hospital, only a few months ago. Not a single trace of his little girl, his world, was anywhere. 

Charlie Jo Winchester didn’t exist. And she never had. It hit him like a ton of bricks. In that corrected timeline, he’d never met Y/N, never fallen for her smile. They’d never gotten together, never had their daughter. And that was the final straw.

His mind wandered again, back to the conversation he’d had only a few hours before. It felt more like a dream than anything.

“Dad I’m sorry.” He had said, his voice cracking.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. This is all I ever wanted for you - a family of your own, for you to have your mother back. All that, or just me? That’s a no brainer son.” Those were the words that set him free, let him make the call he’d wanted to make as soon as he realized that you weren’t a part of his life. 

“I wish you could meet her, meet both of them. They’re the most incredible girls dad.”

“Do you have any pictures?” 

“What?” Dean wasn’t ready for the change in his tone.

“Well, if I can’t meet my granddaughter, I’d love to at least know what she looks like,” John murmured, his voice hopeful. Dean pulled out his phone, praying that somehow the technology had been immune to the paradox.

He was, for once, in luck. There were still a few pictures in his library, casual ones that he had snapped of her. Her tiny toes, her in the little leather jacket he’d bought her. When the got to the picture of Sam holding her, he heard John suck in a breath. He looked away, letting his father tear up without a watching eye.

Everything happened quickly after that it seemed. They had said their goodbyes, and Sam had crushed the pearl. John disappeared, and when Dean went back down the hallway, room 10 was back the way he had made it. All the tiny diapers were back in the basket, all the stuffed animals had returned to their spots on the shelf. He’d picked up her blanket, the soft blue one she always slept with, and carried it back with him to the war room. 

And now it was time to wait.

“Why don’t you just call her?” Sam asked, eyes on the hand he had clenched around the fabric. He missed her too, and Dean could tell he was anxious to see them both. 

“I don’t want to scare her. She doesn’t know that anything happened.” Dean sighed. She had only gone out to buy a valentine’s day outfit for Charlie - she would be back soon enough, there were only two shops in town that sold baby clothes anyways. 

Sam got up, disappearing for a moment before returning with an ice pack.

“If you don’t want to scare her, I’d put some ice on that.” He nodded towards Dean’s cheek, which was swelling rapidly due to Cas’ blow from earlier. He gave him what he could muster of a thanks, which was only a small, close-lipped smile. 

So the boys waited in silence, running through everything that happened in their own minds. Dean kept a hand wrapped in the blanket, rubbing the fabric between his thumb and pointer finger. 

The thought of Y/N he could stomach. He’d imagined her off living in some other state, being better off without him a thousand times over. It didn’t matter how many times she told him she loved him, that he was enough, that she would never leave him. It hurt like hell to imagine her anywhere but with him, but he could handle it if he had to. It would break his heart, but he could handle it, if she was alive and happy somewhere else. 

But Charlie. Not having that little bundle of pure joy, pure love in his life was too much. Thinking about never holding her in his arms, never seeing her gummy little smile; she’d only been in the world 3 months and he already couldn’t imagine it without her. 

The metal clang of the door made both of them jump. Dean looked skyward, already feeling the tears begin to prickle in his eyes.

“I found, the cutest outfit, you all are gonna love it.” Y/N’s voice filled the space, warming it back up immediately. Dean hadn’t realized how cold it had been. The tears began to fall, and he watched the concern wash across her face when she looked down at them.

“What... what the hell happened?!” She almost yelled, abandoning the shopping bag on the balcony and rushing down the stairs, going as fast as she could without disturbing Charlie too much. 

Dean watched as she passed his daughter off to Sam, moving towards him. 

Seeing her there, right in front of him, he knew immediately he’d been wrong. He couldn’t live without her either, not for a minute. He was stupid to think that he could.

“Are you alright?” She asked, running the last few steps to him. He could tell she was about to grab his face and look at his wounds, but he didn’t give her the chance. Instead, he took her waist, pulling her as close as he could, crushing her to him hard enough to take her breath away. 

“Baby you’re scaring me, what happened? Why are you all beat up?” She said in his ear, but she just held him like she knew he needed it somehow. He buried his face in her shoulder, breathing her in. 

“I’m okay. I’ll be alright.” 

He looked over her shoulder then, saw the little girl squirming around in her uncle’s arms. He choked at the sight of her tiny form. 

Y/N let go, let him move over to their daughter. Sam passed her over to him without any hesitation, and she fit into his arms like she was made to stay there forever. 

“Hey beautiful, hi sweetheart,” he cooed through his tears. And when she smiled her little smile up at him, the sobs broke free. He pressed his quivering lips to her soft hair, focusing in on the weight of her there with him as he wiped away one of the tears that had landed on her head. There was no doubt he was scaring the living crap out of Y/N but he couldn’t pull himself together, not yet. 

“Do you need me to take her?” Y/N asked, her voice soft as he shook. Charlie didn’t seem to mind, only stared up at him with wide green eyes. 

“No, no I got her. I just need to hold her, that’s all. It’s uh... it’s been a day,” he croaked, his throat tight. He looked up at Sam with bleary eyes, begging. 

“I can explain everything Y/N. I think he just needs a little time with Charlie. C’mon, I’ll make some tea,” Sam coaxed, knowing exactly what his brother needed, just like always. He told him thank you with a look, and Sam nodded in acceptance. 

“Okay. I’ll come check on you two in a little while,” Y/N’s voice was gentle, and there was no judgement there. That somehow made him want to cry even more.

“Okay. I love you.” 

“I love you too,” she smiled, coming over to kiss his cheek before moving to follow Sam. This wasn’t the first time he’d needed some time to just hold his daughter and remember that she was real. She grounded him in a way that he didn’t think was possible.

He waited until they were gone to the kitchen to move, deciding to take Charlie to her room. He tossed her blanket over his shoulder, bouncing her a bit while they walked. His eyes never left her as he made his way down the hall, pushing the door open with his back as soon as they got there.

When he looked at the clock, he was surprised that it already read 6:30. He was even more surprised that his daughter was still awake. 

“Let’s get you ready for bed, hmm?” He murmured, shifting her into the crook of his arm so he could grab a new diaper and a sleeper. She didn’t fuss at all when he laid her down on the changing table, not even when he took off her outfit and diaper.

“There’s my sweet girl,” he whispered, closing the tabs of the new diaper. He looked her over, marveling at the creation he had in front of him. Her soft skin, her little round belly. Tiny hands and tiny toes. The fact that he had any part in making something so beautiful was enough to bring him to tears on a normal day. But of course, today was no normal day, and that made the tears fall even easier. He couldn’t stop them, even as they dripped down onto her.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he whispered, using the shirt he’d taken off of her to dry them off. She didn’t make a peep, only gazed up at him and smiled. He moved on to dressing her, guiding her little legs and arms into the onesie and zipping it up. It was blue, covered in tiny little clouds - a gift from her Uncle Cas, he remembered. 

When the zipper reached the top, she began to wiggle around a bit, cooing and reaching, her tiny fingers grasping until she found her dad’s hand, wrapping around his finger. She held tight to him, and he let her, just watching her and letting his heart take it all in.  

He picked her up, moving over to the rocking chair. She settled in his arms and he covered her little form in her blanket as he hummed her favorite lullaby - hey jude, though she didn’t know it. It was only a few minutes before her eyes were closed, her lips pursed with deep breaths as she dreamt. 

He felt the next round of tears coming, so he stood up and placed her gently in her crib, turning the monitor on and kissing her head before leaving the room. He found Y/N waiting outside, tears in her eyes as well. 

His legs stopped working for a moment as he looked at the woman before him. There was nothing but love in her eyes as she looked him over, checking to make sure he was okay the same way he always checked on her. 

“She asleep?” Y/N asked. 

Dean nodded, hand still on the door handle.

“I’m gonna put this outfit up, why don’t you go wait in our room. I’ll be in there in just a second.”

He nodded again, and let his feet take him one room down the hall, where he just stood there aimlessly. Had today even happened? Was it real? With every passing minute it all seemed to be fading away, though the grief still gripped his chest, squeezed his lungs.

It got a bit easier to breathe when Y/N came back into the room. Her hand on his shoulder anchored him again.

“C’mere,” she whispered. She pulled him into her arms, let him relax there. He didn’t know how he had any tears left, but somehow more began to fall. If he could measure it, he was sure he’d cried more today than he had all year. 

“Sam told me everything. I’m so sorry.”

“S’Okay,” he muttered back, though it was so muffled he barely heard it. 

“What can I do?” She asked.

“Just be here. Just need you here, that’s all.” 

So she pulled his jacket off his shoulders, let him strip down to his boxers and a t-shirt and they climbed into bed, settling back into each others arms. They were silent for a while, just running their hands over each others skin. But after almost an hour, Y/N broke the silence. 

“What was it like? Without her.” Dean had to suck in a breath through his teeth before he answered. It was as if she had poked a fresh wound. 

“I can’t explain it. I mean, she’s only been here for three months, it shouldn’t have been such a drastic change. But it was like my whole world crumpled. You weren’t here, she wasn’t here.”

“You got a little bit of time with your dad though,” Y/N offered, running her fingers through his hair. 

“I made peace with my dad being gone a long time ago. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was nice to see him again, and to see mom so happy. Sammy got to get some stuff off his chest. But as soon as I realized you all were gone, I was ready to change it all back.” 

“Do you wish you hadn’t done it? You know, used the pearl?” 

“I don’t know. If I’d known what would happen, I’m not sure if could have gone through with it. Y/N, I mean even the nursery was gone. There wasn’t a trace of her, of either of you, anywhere. It was awful.” 

“I can’t imagine.” 

He didn’t want her to. He couldn’t stand to think of her in the kind of pain he was in. 

“Well, what’s done is done I suppose. And everything is back the way it should be. I can live with that.” And he meant it, he really truly did. 

“I love you. So much.”

“Love you more,” he sighed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He closed his eyes, trying to let himself sleep even though he knew it was futile. So instead he just ran his fingers over Y/N’s back, feeling her deep breathing against him until the monitor began to light up with the sound of Charlie’s cries. 

“She’s probably hungry. Bring her in here?” Y/N asked. Even in her grogginess, it seemed she knew that having both of them away from Dean would be too much for him to take. She shifted off of him, letting him up as he went to get their daughter. 

Her cheeks were red when he got the crib and scooped her up. Though it calmed her a bit to be in her dad’s arms, it wasn’t who she was looking for, and she continued to cry.

“I know sweet girl, I know I’m not momma, we’re gonna go to her, it’s alright,” he cooed, bouncing and soothing her as he carried her back to their room. When he returned, Y/N had already moved over and rolled onto her side, lifting her shirt (one of dean’s, of course) to reveal her breast. He wasn’t sure he’d seen anything more beautiful in his life. 

He passed Charlie to her and let them get situated before he climbed in. Once she had latched on and was happily suckling away he slid in behind her, careful not to disturb the balance of her tiny body. He traced his finger over her little head of hair, peach fuzz soft against him, listening to her little quick breaths as she filled her tummy. 

“Do you think you’ll ever regret it? Sending your dad back?” Y/N asked, eyes closed. She wouldn’t have asked that if she wasn’t practically drunk on sleep. He smiled anyways, reaching over to brush some of her hair back from her eyes.

“Not a chance. I’ve got my girls. That’s all I need.”

She hummed approval at that, relaxing slowly back into sleep as Charlie continued to eat until she couldn’t anymore. Dean scooped her up gently, laying her on his chest so he could burp her. By the time she was done, she’d already fallen back asleep, and he knew that no matter what he did, he wouldn’t be able to get any rest.

So instead of getting up to take her to her crib, he reached over and coaxed Y/N’s shirt back down so she was covered - she stirred at the contact, rolling back over and curling up to his side again.

His daughters hand grasped his shirt, little fist balling up the fabric as she slept and dreamed, safe there with her dad. He held her there the whole night, his hand on her back. 

And he knew everything was going to be okay. Because he had his girls. And that’s all he would ever need. 

[volunaryroom3]

CHAPTER 3

In the distance I could hear life, laughter and voices echoing down the hall. My curiosity fed by anxiety triggered the need to investigate. I sat up and felt my head slightly sway, plastics bed sheets rustling under me as I pulled the curtains open. Last night the darkness had taken away my desire to view the scenery but in the light I saw a fence. A tall fence that was overshadowed by a larger and looming brick wall from behind. Imposing like two bouncers in a night club, threatening and totalitarian,  but instead of wanting to get in i wanted to be let out. I scraped myself off the bed and padded to the door, my feet defying the cold. I didn't have any slippers. I said no one would know where my things are.

''There you are! I'm Laura. come for breakfast" a chipper woman appeared, smiling and closing the door behind me as I left.

she felt uncomfortably close, so close I was able to read the name tags jangling round her collar. She was a nurse. 

Last night in the quiet of my room I had felt a bit safer basking in every lightbulb and avoiding the curtains but today was different. I knew I was in danger again. I looked at her face smiling in the light and she looked so kind but the eyes, the eyes told a different story.

I should have killed myself. I was a sacrifice to god, for pain and suffering, to atone for my own sins but I'm still here. They were turning their attention to me once more, their eyes falling from the sky and into our minds. 

I looked deep into her eyes and saw the golden halo round her iris. Golden with god! They are using her eyes to see.

"Maddie, are you okay?"she said, eyebrows arched in confusion.

'I am okay!" I replied with conviction, not letting on I knew her secret.

'You must be hungry. Come and have some breakfast with us' she said gesturing down the hall.

"I'm- I'm not hungry" I stuttered trying to get away.

"Please come with me" she smiled at me, head slightly nodding in persuasion.

After a moments pause we walked towards the scent of toast that was wafting down the corridor, hearing clattering from the kitchen as we moved past until we reached the main room. The heart of the hospital comprising of a living room, the centre piece a dimly lit television churning out mindless spectacles which was framed by a stack of unread books, followed by a kitchen and a small crowd of people queuing to be fed. Tributaries of rooms surrounded, breaking off like ventricles, nurses buzzing around like flies on a corpse through the office, the clinic room, into the kitchen and out the hall while ignoring the meeting room.

I joined the back of the queue and hoped it wouldn't be as bad as last time. All eyes immediately turned around to me. Once more I was the new girl at school, nervously pulling at my jumper and getting lost in hallways. My attempt to avoid eye contact was interrupted by a muffed yell and a bang emanating from the meeting in room.

The door flew open and out poured a girl terrified and trembling. Her arms were stretched out in front of her, shaking and stiff, covered up scratches and bruises. They traveled up to her neck and dangerously close to her eyes which were glazed over and dilated like a rabbit running for it's life. pure adrenaline and fear.

"NO" she screamed.

"Emma please stop!' A nurse shouted as people spilled out of the room to reach her.

"NO!' She shouted again arms flailing, slapping them off like ants.

More people then joined the wrestle pulling her limbs into a helpless position.

'No STOP''she shrieked before falling into a chair.

At this point I noticed a wet Rorschach pattern permeate her shorts and a drip fall down her leg. She had wet herself. 

Now with a team on top of her I watched her suddenly fall limp and scooped up, legs trailing on the floor as she disappeared through a door.

"'A breakfast entertainment to start the day" a voice giggled. A girl in the queue had lent round to speak to me.

'Hey! I'm hope" she said,  flicking her ashy hair over her shoulder 'what's your name?' She asked.

My mind went blank as it was still trying to process what i'd just witnessed.

'Maddie' I eventually replied. I looked into her eyes and they were steely blue. I was safe.

'Priya, priya!! This is Maddie" she yelled to a girl in the queue, tapping her finger on my shoulder.

From ahead priya smiled and me and mouthed 'hello! I love your tattoos!" Before pointing at the food hatch and sticking her fingers down her throat to give me review and a warning of what culinary delights were to come.

'Ladies come and get it!!"  Said a voice floating from beyond the hatch as it clicked open.

I hadn't eaten in a long time and the smell made sick. It filled my nostrils and slide down my throat, thick and oozing into my stomach. Cyanide with calories

The queues pushed forward with such pace i didn't even notice it was moving until I found myself at the front.

'What will it be darl" a women beamed at me from over the counter pointing to a limp sausage and a questionable look fried tomato. I felt myself panic. I need water.  I need to wash the smell away,  I need water.

She carefully poured and I grabbed my cup of water heading towards a pod of tables.

At one sat a girl on her own stabbing a sausage, her hair dangling in her food. At another table sat another girl with a nurse, not moving at all.

From the corner of my eye I noticed a pair of feet peeking out from under a floor length curtain, the occupant shuffling Inside.

"Here some and sit with us" a voice greeted me through the maze of tables. Hope waved towards me pointing at an empty chair.

My chair scraped along the floor as I sat down, the sound shrieking through me. My heart pounded as I looked at the door, planning an escape route if necessary.

Across from me sat Hope, beside her was Priya and someone new. "Hello I'm Sarah" said the new one. I looked in her eyes. She looked tired. They were ever so slightly bloodshot but overshadowed by a forest green iris circled with amber flecks. Amber is almost gold. I felt my heart spike. I needed to be careful.

"Did you hear grace last night?" She said Hope, twirling a fork through her fingers. "Jesus, like, shut up. She knows what she's doing. She's just having a tantrum when she can't get her own way. The way she screamed at Georgia was disgusting. She's a new nurse on the ward. She's only just started and she knew she'd get away with it"

"I know" said Priya "I smiled at her yesterday and she just glared at me. Total attitude problem"

Grace was the girl who has been stabbing her sausages on the other side of the tables. We all turned to look at her as she looked back with daggers. "Fuck off" she mouthed while slamming down her cutlery and pushing her place to one side. She got up and walked to the door, dressing gown belt trailing behind her.

"Don't feel bad for her" said Priya "she's not nice"

I nodded but my attention was turned away by the feet that were still shuffling under the curtain.

"Nick and Ava are coming today" said Sarah smiling and sipping her coffee.

"Great!" She Priya clapping her hands together.

The conversation drowned into the background and all I could hear was the clock. Tick tock. I watched the dial creep round, stuttering in circles, ticks louder and stronger than the last. I knew I was in danger.

My attention was brought back with a jump by the long curtain abruptly flying open exposing a lady in a dressing gown, grey hair matted over her face and stamping in her slippers.

"I'm not very well you know!" she yelled at top volume before shuffling off to her room.

"That's Maureen" said hope seeing me startled. "She's harmless , just a bit confused" she said trying to reassure me but it was too late. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

Through the window I saw the clouds gather in the distance. The grey merging into black to form perfect curls and sweeping towards me. This was it. I knew I was going to die.

I crushed my cup in my hand, watering spilling over my shorts and running over my toes.

As I tried to wipe the liquid from my feet I heard it. The chorus. Voices floating on the air, breaking in through cracks in the windows and doors and tumbling into the room. Amazing grace.

I felt the microchip buzz in the back of my neck and turned my entire body to the window, my eyes following along to gaze into the clouds. I noticed a strange scratching behind my eyes. At that moment I realised they had put circuitry in my brain. Attached into my frontal lobe, my overgrown brain tissue keeping it in place, I felt the metal scrape along my cornea every time I blinked. I could feel the wires attached in my sinuses, running over pulsating nerves and tickling the inside of my nose. I looked around the room and I could feeling my eyes sting as the circuit rubbed against them. This is how they were following me now. They were using my eyes.

I trembled and slammed my head into the table, tears rolling down my face and shouting.

"Help me" i cried "please help me"

[asgardianintern]

The Witching Hour

AN: This is the sequel to Sunrise, written with love and admiration to my platonic soul-mate and best friend @strainedrex34 thank you for being so patient with me, I’m sorry this took so long my love.

Tossing and grunting, sweat pooled on his furrowed brow as he struggled to wake from the nightmare that gripped him. The sheets were bunched in his fist, tangled around his legs, his muscles tensing, tensing until with a gasp, he wrenched himself awake. Bucky sat bolt upright, shoulders heaving with his breath as the details of the nightmare, only moments ago so vivid, began to fade. The bad dreams were fewer and further between now, but they still hit him like a freight train some nights. Sighing, he ran his hands through his damp, shaggy hair and reached out to touch her sleeping form. But where he was expecting to find the warm curve of her hip, he found only cold, empty air and a pile of rumpled blankets where she should have been.

Confused, he rubbed his eyes and looked around for her, hoping to see her in one of the darkened corners of her bedroom, but she was nowhere to be found. The digital alarm clock she kept on her vanity showed the time to be 3:27 am, what his mother had always called the "witching hour"; though they were both night owls, she should have come to bed by now. Blinking, he got to his feet, his ears pricked up for any sound, his muscles tensed in preparation and against the rising tide of panic. A blade of yellow light was shining under the closed bedroom door, and he followed it, easing the door open and stepping into the hall.

Relief flooded through him as he saw her sitting on the couch in the living room-for a few gutwrenching moments, he had feared the worst-but his heart sank again when he heard the soft, stifled sounds of her crying. And caught sight of the kitchen shears clenched in her right hand and the scattered chunks of hair lying on the coffee table. Bucky let out a sigh, hoping the sound would alert her to his presence, and slowly crept forward, not wanting to startle her. When he was close enough, he touched her shoulder with his left hand, the sensors embedded in the vibranium recognizing the warmth of her skin. He had found that during a bad night like this, it was best to touch her with his metal hand, because that was how she identified him. That was how he grounded her.

Even so, she flinched under his hand, and he leaned down to brush the top of her head with a kiss. "It's just me," he rasped.

"Did I wake you up?" Her voice was small, thick with tears, and it tore at his heart. Tracing the curve of her shoulder, he shook his head. She sniffed, a tiny, broken sound. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Throwing a muscular leg over the back of the couch, he slid down onto the cushion beside her. "What happened?" A stifled sob that could have been a mumbled sentence was his only answer. Taking a deep breath, he reached out and took her hands in both of his, gently plucking the shears from her palm and folding their hands together. "You can tell me when you're ready."

There were a few minutes of heavy silence, lingering like smoke in the air, before she squeezed her hands around his and took a deep breath, wiping the tears from her face. "I just...I forgot where I was. I forgot what year it was, and for a second, I was afraid that he..." She stopped, swallowed hard, eyes screwed shut against a wave of fresh tears. "I was afraid that he was coming after me." Bucky nodded, understanding all too well the all-consuming terror of the ones you feared the most relentlessly tracking you down, even if it was all in your head. "I started panicking, and I wasn't really thinking clearly, and the only thing I could think of to do was..." She paused, gesturing at the pile of hair on the table. "To cut my hair so he wouldn't recognize me." A sob broke through, and her fingers tightened around his, her grip so fierce it would have bruised anyone else. "So that he couldn't grab hold of it ever again."

Bucky was silent for a few heart-wrenching moments, fighting back the urge to crush her against him, to cage her in his arms as a shield against anything that would dare to threaten her. But what she needed now was not a cage. What she needed was reassurance, and he sighed, reaching up to touch the inexpertly cut strands of her hair. "You know," he started, his voice low, "I used to cut my own hair when I was a kid. Steve and I taught ourselves, practiced on each other. Accidentally gave him a bowl cut once." His soul leapt to hear a tiny, water-logged laugh. "I could fix this for you, if you want."

For a moment, she was still, then her delicate fingers slid along his hand, tracing the veins and ridges of bone along his knuckles. "James..." she whispered, finally raising her head to look him fully in the face. Her grey-blue eyes were bloodshot and still shedding quiet tears, two red patches slapped across her arched cheekbones, a faint sheen of perspiration on her forehead. Obviously, she had been trying very hard to keep her sobs quiet, he guessed for his sake, and the ache in his chest deepened for her. Smiling, Bucky reached up with his free hand, his metal hand, and with a feather-light touch, brushed away a tear trembling by her mouth.

"It's okay." She only called him James when she was at her most vulnerable, her most open and wounded. He'd grown so used to the name Bucky, the name his childhood friend had given him, that James seemed foreign and surreal. He would sit with her, soothe her, calm her, until she could call him Bucky again.

Brushing a kiss over her knuckles, he stood and went to the kitchen, flipping lights on along the way. Working briskly, he laid a towel down on the floor to catch the cut hair and pulled up an old wooden chair next to the sink. He glanced up to see her standing in the doorway, her toes on the line where carpet met hardwood, picking her lip and staring at the floor. His smile was gentle, his touch gentler still as he took her elbow, guiding her to sit in the chair. He hummed a song, some new melody that he couldn't remember the words to but always seemed to make her happy, as she laid her head back in the sink and let him run warm water over her hair. A line appeared between her brows, then smoothed out as she allowed a quiet smile to curve her lips, her hand falling to her side and her eyes meeting his at last.  

"Are you humming Shape of You?"

Bucky laughed, running his fingers through the unevenly cut strands. "You play it so much, it keeps getting stuck in my head." Her smiled widened, a tiny sparkle returning to her slate-grey eyes as she began murmuring the lyrics along to his tune. They sang together as he washed her hair, their voices growing louder and more sure as he sat her forward, catching the drips in her hair with another towel, turning her so she was sitting in the light. Eventually, Bucky began singing songs he'd loved in his childhood, some Judy Garland, some Andrews Sisters, a little Fred Astaire. Love songs, mostly. He was no Frank Sinatra, but he could carry a tune well enough (better than Steve could, he'd always bragged), and she seemed to enjoy the soft baritone of his voice. Her hair was easy enough; there was enough left to fashion into what the kids today called a "pixie cut", short in back and long in front. The ends of her hair now brushed the line of her jaw, and he was relieved as he handed her a mirror to see her smile. 

"Buck...it's wonderful. I love it." She stood and wrapped her arms around his neck, her damp hair cool against his chin as she pressed her entire body against him, warm and solid and secure. "Thank you for this."

Bucky in turn banded his arms tightly around her, breathing in the smell of her shampoo and her perfume and the unnameable and instantly calming scent of her skin. "Anytime, doll," he rumbled in her ear, rubbing her back softly. They embraced for a few moments, the world seeming to slow down around them to allow this extended moment of peace. Then, it ended with a yawn. She covered her mouth and withdrew from his as far as his grasp would allow.

"Sorry," she mumbled, her eyelids fluttering to half-mast.

"It's fine." Bucky kissed her forehead, then released her. "Why don't you go on to bed? I'll clean up here in and be in in a minute, okay?"

She nodded, a smile once again curving her lips as she gave him a quiet goodnight, disappearing into the shadows of the open bedroom doorway. He heard the springs on the mattress creak as she got into bed, and sighed contentedly, fishing the broom out from its place between the refrigerator and the wall. He swept up the hair from the kitchen and living room, put the scissors away, and threw the damp towels into the hamper before switching off the lights and joining her beneath the covers. He kissed her, long and slow and deep, just as the digital clock blinked over to 5 am. The witching hour was over, the crisis had passed. And as the sky began to turn grey and the birds began to stir from their roosts, they drifted from the waking world, tangled in the comfort of each other's arms.