#yet he's there as her anchor with the softest comfort to hug and kiss her tears away.....🥺🥺 protective and dependable as always

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

And I Will Hold Onto You

Summary: They’ve never been apart for holidays since they started dating. That was until Spencer Reid found himself behind bars for a crime he’d never think of committing. Growing and healing, Spencer realizes that it’s not the holidays that matter, it’s the person. Because with that special person, who’s laugh he can recognize anywhere, even cleaning up the empty bottle the next morning is magical.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Author’s Note/Warnings: Body Image Issues (Male) nothing too descriptive, prison arc is mentioned/is central issue; loosely based of New Year’s Day by Taylor Swift

Also this is technically a part 2 to Drag Me Head First but it doesn’t have to be read that way.

And I Will Hold Onto You

There’s something special in the way that the first midnight of the new year feels. All that hopefulness and excitement packed into a 10 second countdown. The energy in the room slowly bubbles up, culminating as the ball drops. It fizzles out as loved ones share chaste kisses and friends hug. But all that remains are last year’s bottles and this year’s dreams. Maybe it’s something that Spencer always took for granted.

The cold midnight air is jarring, compared to his warm and cozy house. Spencer walks quickly, taking out the trash, filled with bottles of beer and wine. The snow crunches under his shoes and Spencer can see his breath in the air as he huffs to toss the bag in the black trash bin. Spencer, despite the way the cold air nips his nose, stops in his tracks and gazes up at the stars. It’s unfortunate living where he does, you can never really see all the stars. Maybe Y/N would like to take a trip in their cabin the next time he can get off? He could show her all the stars. But Spencer doesn’t need to go to the middle of the woods to see the stars; he can simply look into Y/N’s eyes and see all the magic the universe has to offer.

Spencer lets himself back into his house, just as Garcia and Derek are putting their shoes and coats on to leave. Y/N comes out of the kitchen carrying two trays of leftover food for their friends to take home.

“Penny, please kiss those sweet babies for me,” Y/N says, handing Luke the trays of food. She leans over to kiss Penelope on her cheek.

“They can only sweet when they are sleeping,” Penelope says, rolling her eyes and putting her coat on. It’s more of a cape in a spectacular plum purple color with cream colored faux fur trim.

“Don’t act so surprised, mi amor, look who their mother is,” Luke says, cheekily. He hugs Spencer and Y/N before grabbing Garcia’s hand with his empty one.

“Happy New Year!” Garcia and Luke call as they leave, shutting the door behind them. Spencer locks the door and heads back to the kitchen to help Y/N clean up. The plates sit in the sink piled high, with tall champagne glasses resting next to them on the counter. Glitter scatters on the floor, confetti in the shapes of “1s” and “6” lay littered on the tiles, remnants of the festivities just moments before.

Y/N stands over the sink, her hand rests on the ledge. She turns on the water and starts washing the dishes. Spencer walks up quietly behind her, nuzzling his hand into the corner of her ear and shoulder. He hums, the vibrations echoing into Y/N’s neck, causing her to giggle. He joins his hands together around Y/N’s waist, holding her tight.

“Happy New Year, my love,” Spencer whispers, his voice hardly audible above the stream of water. Even though Spencer can’t see Y/N, he can feel the way her cheeks grow against the side of his head. She’s smiling.

“It is a very happy, new year,” Y/N says, her voice strong, yet Spencer can tell it’s hard for her to keep it together. It’s not their first new year, far from it, it’s their 13th. But this time, it feels different to hold her in his arms and kiss her as the clock strikes 12.

They wash the dishes in silence, a comforting silence where certain things don’t need to be said. Like a well oiled machine, Y/N washes, Spencer dries. The sudsy dish soap smells like home and Y/N’s quiet hums sound like peace. Spencer really forgot how much he could love even the most mundane of tasks when Y/N stands next to him.

“Come on, Y/N we can do this tomorrow. Let’s just go to bed,” Spencer says, tugging on Y/N’s long sleeve of her thermal shirt.

“Hmm, I can’t argue against your cuddles, sweetheart,” Y/N murmurs tiredly, easily pushing the thoughts of clean up to the next morning. Her hand joins his, like a key finding it’s matching lock. They are cold from the water, but Spencer doesn’t really mind.

A tangle of limbs and hands, they make their way up the stairs to their shared bedroom. They pass the wall filled with pictures of their smiling faces or candid countenances in mismatching frames hung against the wall. It’s just a testament to how long they’ve been together, going back to their first date right before Y/N’s college graduation and Spencer’s fifth, leading up to their most recent Halloween. Each photo stuck in time, frozen with utter happiness and unadulterated joy. But there’s a gap in the collection, a gap that Spencer rather not talk about. A gap where, for the first time since they met, Spencer and Y/N were separated. Sitting in jail, all Spencer could think of was the personal mental prison that Y/N must have confined herself too.

They don’t like talking about the gap, but he knows they have too. Spencer knows that Y/N is proud of him, she tells him that everyday. Proud of him for keeping up with therapy, proud of him for letting go of the little things that he can’t control, proud of him for trusting her with his secrets and fears. It’s the strangest thing, to have someone be proud of you for just living.

“We’re going to need a bigger wall,” Spencer says, hoping that his attempt at referencing pop culture would land. Y/N stops to turn to Spencer, who in the moonlight that drips in from the window, looks much younger than he really is.

“Did you just make a pop culture reference that’s not from, like, 300 years ago?” Y/N says, her brow upturned in a quizzical stare.

“Come on, Y/N, you love when I recite all Sir Walter Raleigh to you,” Spencer says, reaching up to tickle Y/N sides, causing her to giggle and run up the rest of the stairs.

“Spencer! You know that I’m too ticklish,” Y/N says in between short laughs and gasps for air. She plops down on the bed, dragging Spencer down with her. He lays his head down on her chest and like a Rube Goldberg machine, her fingers come up and tangle themselves in his hair.

“Maybe our New Year’s Resolution should be to get some more exercise, Spence. Your heart is beating faster than mine and that run from the steps to our room is like a good 10 feet,” Y/N jokes as she continues scratching Spencer’s scalp lulling him into a peaceful, sleepy state.

“Two things, baby, one, we don’t exercise and two, that’s not why my heart is beating so fast, I think it has something to do with the beautiful girl laying so close to me,” Spencer murmurs quietly.

“Hmm, you certainly know how to charm a girl, even like 13 years later,”

“Actually it’s, 13 years, 7 months, 17 days, 17 hours, 58 minutes and 31 seconds,” Spencer says with a quick glance at his watch.

“And I’ve loved every single minute of it,” Y/N says, reaching up to sneak a pillow under Spencer’s head. She moves to get out of bed, much to Spencer’s displeasure.

“No, no, Y/N you’re so warm and I’m freezing,” Spencer whines, shifting so he can look at his wife, who has shrugged off her thermal shirt and jeans.

“And who’s fault is that?” Y/N chides. Spencer, almost bashful at her teasing, attempts to hide his blush with the pillow that rests under his head.

“I only turn the heat all the way down at night so we’re forced to cuddle for body heat,” Spencer says, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“So you say,” Y/N tells Spencer, sitting down back on the bed. She pulls on Spencer’s legs, dragging him down the bed.

“Come on lazy boy, get your PJs on,” Y/N orders. Spencer, who under Penelope’s less than pure supervision, had enough shots to make up for all the college parties that he missed. There’s happy drunks, forgetful drunks, and then there're sleepy drunks.

Spencer stands in front of the mirror, inspecting his body. The low, yellow lamp light casts shadows on his naked torso. He’s filled out a little bit since they’ve started dating, especially within the last few months of Spencer’s healing. Y/N knew that it’s a sore spot for him, but there’s something about the way that Spencer’s dress pants sit tightly against his thighs or the way his shirt clings to his stomach that just makes him look so much older. Both of them, including their bodies, have changed so much since 13 years ago. Or 13 years, 7 months, 17 days, 18 hours, 5 minutes and 12 seconds ago. They’ve grown up together, and now Y/N can’t wait to grow old together.

But the look in his eyes is not pride over his growth or confidence over his physique. It’s confusion. Spencer stares at himself like he’s an unsolvable puzzle. Y/N knows he must hate that; Spencer hates things that he can’t find an answer to. Y/N walks up behind him, lacing her finger together so her arms clasp against his waist. For a moment, Spencer flinches. Even her gentlest touches and softest kisses can’t wash away the fear of much harsher contact. Their eyes meet in the mirror, but Y/N can feel that Spencer’s not looking at her. After all these years, she can still see the terrified young man who brazenly kissed her in her car in the middle of a rainstorm. After all these years, Spencer is still the only man she ever loved.

“Spencer,” Y/N says quietly. His name off her lips is more tender than any pet name in existence.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m being immature, it’s just,” Spencer closes his eyes, trying to focus himself in the present. It’s something that his therapist suggested. In moments of distress, find your anchor. Luckily for Spencer, his anchor has been his anchor for quite awhile.

“You can tell, I’m not going to judge you,” Y/N says, her lips leaving small kisses on his exposed shoulders.

“It’s just I thought this whole nightmare of prison was behind me. Therapy has been helping, I’m better on cases and I love teaching,” Spencer says, the pain in his voice leaking out.

Y/N doesn’t say anything, instead she guides Spencer to sit on the edge of their bed. She rubs her hand down his back, tracing his spine and around the freckles that collect on his right shoulder.

“I thought that the emotional healing would be the hardest part, I mean it is, but physically, I don’t recognize myself. I can imagine you don’t either,” Spencer says, he turns to lay on the bed, bringing his feet up to his chest in a textbook self-protective position.

“Spence, your body is gonna change, baby. God, mine has changed so much since we met,” Spencer gives Y/N a confused look, like he’s not thoroughly convinced by her explanation.

“It has Spencer. We’re not 22 years old anymore, we’re going to be like 35 in a couple of months. But you know, this is something we can work on together, I’ve gone my whole life not loving the skin I’m in. But being with you makes it easier, Spence.” Y/N says, running her fingers across the bridge of Spencer’s nose and down to his lips, that always a ridiculously gorgeous shade of pink. Spencer doesn’t say much, he’s still trapped deep inside his mind.

“I don’t know how you put up with me and all my antics, Y/N”

“You do my taxes every year,” Y/N jokes, making an effort to kiss every freckle and dipple on the expanse of Spencer’s back.

Spencer turns in the bed so he’s facing Y/N, he cups her face all the way from her ear to her jaw. It’s an intimate gesture that somehow is more loving and vulnerable than saying “I love you,”

“You know you make me fearless, Y/N,” Spencer tells her, not blinking because he doesn’t want to miss out on any more time looking into her eyes.

“You say that everyday Spencer Reid,” Y/N responds, letting herself melt into the touch. She grabs onto his wrist, physically telling him to not let go.

“I have a lot of days to make up for,” Spencer says, solemnly.

“It’s not making it up if it’s the rest of our life, Spencer. Besides, there’s no one I’d rather spend New Year’s Day cleaning up all those bottles with,”

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

**Taglist** (Comment to be Added or Send in An Ask)

@calm-and-doctor @shemarmooresfedora

[fickleminder]

the years start coming and they don’t stop coming

In which Lilith’s return distorts her brothers’ perception of time.

Part 2 here

You’ve never seen the demon prince look so embarrassed.

“I can call for —”

“No, it’s okay. They deserve this.”

But you don’t, goes unspoken. You can see the pity in his eyes, feel the palpable disappointment in the air. Even Simeon and Luke make sure to hug you extra tight before stepping through the portal to the Celestial Realm, and Solomon promises to check up on you after you’ve returned home.

Thanking Lord Diavolo and Barbatos for their hospitality, you turn towards the final demon in the council room and put on the biggest grin your breaking heart can muster. “Hey, c’mere.”

Satan doesn’t hesitate to throw his arms around you. It’s almost like he’s trying to make up for his brothers’ absence, the way he crushes you to his chest and cradles the back of your head.

You can’t find it in yourself to blame them. As far as miracles go, this is a pretty big one. Lilith coming back to life is an unprecedented event, one not even Barbatos had seen coming. Nobody has any answers either. She’s definitely not a demon, not an angel, not human; just an immortal who knocked on the front door of the House of Lamentation three days ago.

Her brothers haven’t left her alone since. You’re happy for them, you really are, but a bitter part of you can’t help but wish her return had waited until after the exchange program ended. At least Lucifer had the courtesy to pull you aside and thank you on his family’s behalf (though you’re quite certain you had nothing to do with your ancestor’s sudden revival), in addition to making a pact with you as a token of his gratitude.

With that, you could have summoned all of them to send you off just as effectively as Lord Diavolo giving the order, but it won’t be the same and you know it. Your only saving grace is Satan, the one brother who’d kept his head and anchored you in the sea of loneliness you’d been set adrift in over the last few days.

“I’m gonna miss you, cat boy.”

“I miss you already,” Satan laughs softly, pulling back with a warm smile. “I’ll stay in touch, I promise.”

You squeeze his arms affectionately and glance past his shoulders at the closed doors. There’s the smallest shred of hope in you that thinks the others will come bursting through any moment now, scrambling for one final chance to see you. You give yourself five seconds, silently counting down to a pipe dream, before pressing a kiss to Satan’s cheek and releasing him.

“It might not seem like it now, but the Devildom will always be here for you,” Lord Diavolo says as the world around you fades to white. “Farewell.”

.

.

.

“Did you lose track of time at the library again? You missed dinner last night LOL.”

“Levi, be nice!”

Satan only hums quietly in response. He can’t be bothered to correct the assumption; it’s a convenient excuse for when his brothers actually notice he’s missing anyway.

The irony of Levi calling him out isn’t lost on him. While the otaku is still obsessed with his games and shows, he’s no longer as shut-in as he used to be, venturing outside the comforts of his sanctuary more often. Satan has passed by the common room on many occasions to find him and Lilith gaming or binging anime together, and the content expression on Levi’s face proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that the void from his Henry’s departure has long been filled.

“Oh, but speaking of,” Lilith sets her cutlery down and smiles shyly at the fourth-born, “I haven’t had the chance to explore the libraries here yet. If it’s not too much trouble, can you show me around and recommend a few books?”

Shrugging non-committedly, Satan continues with his meal, not once looking her in the eye.

.

.

.

You’ve always wondered how someone with the Avatar of Lust for a brother can have such terrible fashion sense. It should be impossible to go wrong with dressing for a funeral, but you guess life (along with a certain eyesore of a tie) just loves to disappoint you. Still, you’re too glad to have Satan with you right now to care.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Anytime.”

You lean into the demon’s side as he holds an umbrella over both of you. Your eyes are drawn to the flowers he’d placed on your mother’s grave, the only splash of color against the dull tombstone. For the longest time, all you can process is the pitter-patter of the afternoon rain on the plastic wrap of the bouquet, and the comforting weight of Satan’s arm across your shoulders.

“She was in a lot of pain,” you admit after a while, your voice slightly hoarse. “The doctors had to sedate her. She went in her sleep.”

“I’m sorry.” Satan fidgets awkwardly, not quite sure what to say. He’s no stranger to death, but the loss of someone dear is unfamiliar to him. “Perhaps Simeon can find out if —”

“No, no it’s fine. I just — I need to —”

The umbrella is forgotten as Satan catches you, lowering you gently to the ground when your knees give way. You cling to him desperately, and it’s all he can do to draw you close as you start to wail.

.

.

.

Satan barely makes it three steps into the house before getting pounced on.

“How was it? Where did you go? Ooh you lucky demon, I want to hear all the details!”

“Oi, oi! What are you babbling on about?”

“Don’t act coy with me! Lilith saw you at the florist’s yesterday with the most gorgeous bouquet of flowers!”

“Yesterday? But —”

“How come you never told me someone caught your eye? I would have dolled you up, lent you some of my clothes —” Asmo gasps dramatically. “You didn’t wear that horrid jacket to your date, did you?”

Wrestling a hand free, Satan musses his younger brother’s hair. “None of your business,” he growls, walking away with a smirk when Asmo immediately releases him to fix his appearance. “Who do you take me for, anyway?”

“Aww come on, just give me a hint! Do I know them? Is it someone from RAD? Ooh, did you meet them at the library or —”

Ducking into the safety of his room, Satan shuts the door in Asmo’s face.

.

.

.

“Thank fuck. Who picked your outfit this time?”

“Barbatos. And shut up.”

You grab Satan’s arm with a laugh and lead him towards your table, politely introducing him as ‘Stan from work’ to any relatives who ask about the handsome young man accompanying you. Satan’s usual mask is in place, but there’s no mistaking the gleam of wonder in his eyes as he takes in his surroundings.

“Finally,” you sigh, sinking into your seat and grinning sheepishly at the blond. “Sorry about them. It’s just that they’ve never seen me with anyone, so they’re really curious about you.”

“Well, I’m glad you invited me along. I’ve never been to a wedding before.” The romantic in Satan is openly basking in the ambience of the reception. “You mentioned that your niece had gotten married?”

“Technically my first cousin once removed, but yeah.”

“And you’ve not been seeing anyone?”

“You would have been the first to know if I have,” you tease, nudging him playfully. “Apparently a lot of people are put off by the way I dress. Too modest, they say.”

But not without good reason. The pact marks on your body may be slightly faded from disuse, but they’re still discernable if stared at hard enough: Lucifer’s at the back of your neck; Mammon’s over your heart; Levi’s curled around your right calf; Satan’s circling your left arm; Asmo’s dangerously close to tramp stamp territory; Beel’s just under your navel; and Belphie’s on your ribs at the side you like to sleep on.

Passing them off as tattoos without attracting the wrong kind of attention is a little tricky, so you’d rather take a page from Solomon’s book and cover them up. Being called a prude is easier than dealing with cultists.

(It also helps you to keep your mind off of them, because some wounds continue to hurt even after they heal, so there’s that.)

Sensing the drop in your mood, Satan clears his throat to get your attention. It’s only then that you realize there’s music playing in the background, and couples moving from their tables to the floor.

Your companion stands up and offers you his hand, this time with a genuine smile on his face. “May I have this dance?”

.

.

.

Lucifer’s tone books no room for argument. “This will be a family event, so I expect your attendance. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your little escapades over the past few months.”

“Tch.”

“Do I make myself clear?”

“Whatever. I’ll be there.”

Satan has to resist the urge to hurl his hardcover at the back of Lucifer’s head when he takes his leave. That’s no way to treat a book, after all.

Beel’s Fangol team has an upcoming match and it’ll be Lilith’s first time watching him play. She’s been hyped up for weeks, so it comes as no surprise that Lucifer would use the opportunity to turn it into a family outing. He’s been doing that a lot lately.

Gone is the stuffy first-born who can spend days in his office if left unchecked. Lucifer is still as strict as ever, still fulfills his duties to Lord Diavolo diligently, but it’s like he’s managed to master balancing work and play overnight. He makes more time for his siblings now, even if it’s to dole out punishments for their endless shenanigans, punishments that vary in severity depending on how cutely Lilith pleads on their behalf.

Lucifer has always doted on her, and she has him wrapped around her little finger. Belphie has even gone as far as corrupting her into pranking him, and she need only bat her eyelashes to get off scot-free.

Lilith was the catalyst for the Fall, her descendent the glue that brought her siblings back together, and her return the final piece in making their family whole again.

But you were family too, Satan thinks sourly, pulling out his D.D.D. to mark the date in his calendar.

.

.

.

When you invite Satan over to your apartment for tea, he never expected to be introduced to your new housemate: a handsome fellow with chestnut brown hair, sharp jade eyes, a runner’s body, and the softest-looking toe beans he has ever seen in his immortal life.

“Satan, meet Satan!” You hold out the tabby towards him with a shit-eating grin.

Both demon and cat blink owlishly at each other. The blond doesn’t know whether to feel endeared by the feline sharing his name or insulted that you would replace him so easily, but all it takes is a single bop on the nose with a curious paw for him to melt.

Satan the tabby, who normally prefers to scale your shelves and nap between your books, spends the entire day a purring puddle in Satan the demon’s arms, shamelessly relishing in pets and massages to the extent that at some point, you have a very real fear they might just end up absconding back to the Devildom together. Thankfully, some kibble and freshly baked treats help you separate the two for a while, at least long enough for you to get some decent conversation in.

You brew a pot of Earl Grey with the beautifully crafted tea set Barbatos gifted you when you had first moved in, and serve the scones you made earlier in the morning using the baking tools blessed by Luke during your housewarming. You don’t know if the little angel had actually imbued them with Celestial magic, but everything you cook somehow always lifts your spirits when consumed.

Satan has to catch himself in the middle of regaling you with Mammon’s latest half-baked scheme. The wistful look on your face is new; you’re usually eager to hear what his brothers have been up to, but something feels off today. He pours you more tea, slides another scone onto your plate, and waits.

“…Are they happy?” You ask after a while.

The demon knows better than to lie, even if it’s to spare you from the truth he suspects you’re already aware of. “Yes,” he admits grudgingly.

“I’m glad.”

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

.

.

.

Lilith stands outside his room, holding a tray of tea and cakes.

“Hey, um, may I come in?” Her smile is both hopeful and uncertain. It’s a gamble, ambushing the fourth-born when he obviously has no interest in her. At best, he’ll make up an excuse to turn her away or just ignore her completely; at worst, well… she doesn’t really want to think about that. To her visible relief, he opens the door wider and steps aside.

Satan clears a space for her to set the tray down. There’s the briefest moment of hesitation before he drags your favorite armchair over and offers her a seat as well. He looks guarded but not openly hostile, a promising sign so far.

“You’ve been in and out of the house lately, so I haven’t had the chance to catch you. I thought we might sit down and talk,” Lilith says, pouring two cups of the hot beverage as she chooses her next words carefully. “The others told me about how you were born, but I understand that you are your own person. I’d like to get to know that person.”

A part of Satan is acutely aware of their one-sided relationship; he is familiar with her through Lucifer, but she has never met him. It makes sense for her to be curious about him, though Satan isn’t so sure he wants to return the favor. She reminds him too much of you in the way she prepares her tea, how she sits on your chair, her shy lopsided smile —

But she’s not you, and you’re not her, Satan has to remind himself lest he commits the same mistake his brothers nearly did after your lineage had been revealed. Now in a convoluted turn of events, it’s you who’s gone and Lilith here, and there’s no reason why he can’t give her a chance and treat her like the sister she could be to him.

It’s what you would have wanted.

Lilith tries not to let her shoulders slump too much when Satan quietly stands up and heads towards his door. She’s prepared to pack up and leave until she spots him grabbing several books from a nearby shelf.

“Have you ever read Mid-Fall Murders?” He asks, handing her a hardcover with a shy smile of his own.

.

.

.

“What’s it like?”

Satan’s grip on your hand tightens. “I don’t actually know,” he confesses, shuffling closer so that your shoulder and arm are pressed against his. It’s a strange sight, the two of you lying side by side on your bed, staring aimlessly at the ceiling.

“Will it hurt?”

“No.”

You’ve never heard a single word hold so much promise, but you have no reason to doubt the demon’s sincerity. Satan wouldn’t take pity on you just because you’re —

A light knock on the door, and in pokes Simeon’s head. “Ah, little lamb! I’m glad we made it in time.”

“Not so little anymore, Simeon.” You laugh softly, greeting Luke and Solomon as they trail in behind him. Satan brushes his lips over your forehead before getting up to receive your guests.

The day is as ordinary as it can be. You talk and catch up with your friends, trading stories and laughter over cups of tea that neither grow cold nor go empty. When the session turns into a mini book club gathering halfway through, Luke helpfully retrieves the debated titles from the massive shelf in the living room. He takes a while to find them; you’ve accumulated plenty of works over the years: recommendations by Satan, literature published under Simeon’s pseudonym, and handwritten tomes from Solomon to keep you in touch with your magic. The shelf is practically jam-packed with books, the only exception being a corner on the topmost tier, housing a little space that’s empty save for a worn green collar with a rusted bell.

Come sundown the five of you are still neck-deep in discussion, but as with all good things, the get together eventually reaches an end.

“Thanks everyone, it’s been fun,” you say, reclining back in your bed as Satan wordlessly cleans up. You squeeze his hand when he returns to your side and bid the others goodbye. “Hopefully I’ll see you guys soon?”

“About that…” Solomon clears his throat, wearing the smug look that usually accompanies a trick being pulled out of his sleeve, but this time it’s tinged more with excitement than mischief. “Simeon has a little present for you first.”

The guileless smile on the angel’s face betrays nothing as he steps forward and reaches into a small pouch at his hip. “Solomon, Diavolo and I have a theory. Now, keep in mind that this is all very experimental, but if it works, you’ll have more options to choose from, should you so wish.”

And then he brings out a ring.

.

.

.

“Are you, uh, are you okay?”

“Not in the mood, Mammon.”

“Oi, I’m trying to be nice here! Who do you think covered for your sorry ass when you came back past curfew the other day, huh?”

“What the hell do you want?”

“You may think you’re all stealthy and shit, but your eyes were pretty red that night. I thought you were at a book club meeting. Did something happen?”

“None of your business.”

“Argh, fine then! This is the last time I try to be a good big brother.”

“…Mammon?”

“?”

“...”

“...”

“I’m sorry.”

“Eh, what are you — you can’t just say that and then run off! Get back here!”

.

.

.

“Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…”

Lilith’s countdown echoes along the deserted hallway, prompting Beel to nudge the deadweight on his back. “Belphie, go get your own hiding place.”

“Mmngh… zzz…”

“Come on, or she’ll win this round with a two for one. Again.”

“…Just dump me somewhere she won’t find me then.”

A tall order, especially since Lilith can easily track them down by listening out for Beel’s stomach and/or Belphie’s snores. Still, the sixth-born lumbers through the house as quietly as he can, doing a one-eighty whenever he hears Lilith’s cheerful hums coming from the opposite direction. Technically they can avoid being caught if they keep moving, but that would be cheating. They hid in the attic previously so that’s a no go, their room’s too obvious, the kitchen too tempting, the common room too exposed…

Maybe Levi’s room? The otaku had sound-proofed his walls to avoid distractions from the outside world when he’s gaming, so it’s an ideal location to hide. He can stash Belphie in the bathtub and run interference until time’s up.

Backtracking, Beel breaks into a light jog towards the other wing, keeping his ears open for their seeker. It’s only because of his heightened senses that he’s able to pick up the faintest traces of magic on one of the walls, causing him to pause in his steps.

“Hmm? Why’d you stop?” Slightly more awake now, Belphie rubs his eyes and slides off his twin, who’s studying the blank space intently. “What’s wrong, Beel?”

“There’s something here, something…”

“It’s just a wall —”

“No, don’t you feel it? I know you weren’t around then, but it’s the same glamor as that time Luke went missing and we —”

Beel goes white. He whispers a name, a name not spoken in the house for years, and a door flickers into view. One hand grabs Belphie’s in a death grip as the other twists the knob and pushes the door open, revealing an old yet familiar room.

The place is devoid of life. Most of the furniture are covered by sheets, resting under thick layers of dust. In the middle sits a tree, sagging with age and soft with rot. Sunken footprints mark the demons’ furtive venture into decrepit memory, and the creaking of floorboards with every step only tethers the growing nightmare closer to reality.

A photo frame crashes to the ground.

.

.

.

They deserve this.

Satan feels it the moment the spell concealing your room was broken. It had been his way of protecting your memory, ensuring that your sanctuary would only be accessible to those who made the effort to remember you. He cast it about a year after you had left the Devildom, after he realized that leaving your door in plain sight wasn’t doing you any favors.

Hidden away in an alcove at the back of the garden, curled up with a blanket and a thermos of hot tea, Satan slides a bookmark between the pages of his latest novel and leans his head back, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh.

Even this far away from the house, he can hear the cacophony of screams and shouts, objects being flung and shattered into pieces, a muted bang suggesting that a wall has just collapsed. The fallout comes as no surprise; waking up after living the past hundred years or so in a daze will do that to a person – or in this case, demons.

Although the sounds of fighting call to the rage bubbling within him, the vindictive thoughts of his brothers getting their just desserts cool it to a simmer. He knows he’ll have to face them eventually, but he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

“Meow?”

Emerald eyes blink open. There’s a faint rustle from the nearby bushes as a tiny Calico wanders out of the foliage, peering around the garden curiously. Upon spotting the blond demon, it perks up and makes a beeline for him.

“Hm? You’re not Callie. Are you new here, little one?” His mood considerably improved, Satan extends a hand towards the kitten. It skips the finger sniffing step and goes straight to headbutting his palm, begging for attention.

“You’re an affectionate one, aren’t you?” Satan caves immediately and scritches away with a delighted chuckle. He examines the markings on its tri-colored fur, wanting to recognize the friendly feline if it comes back in the future. The Calico is mostly white with patches of brown and black splashed over the back of its neck, near the base of its tail, just under the side of its ribs, and several other spots that seem to collectively resemble a familiar pattern…

Satan’s hand stills. He whispers your name, trembling with hope, and the kitten practically leaps into his arms, nuzzling his chin with a happy purr.

[arjochanwrites]

This thing spilled out of my hand after I laid my eyes on this amazing art by @alekdar

The platform was bustling with students and parents, a great sea of bodies and trolleys and pets and so many other things, all of them creating a comforting warmth in the atmosphere.

 The familiar sounds and sights of this place drew a contented sigh from his lips, as Harry rolled his trolley towards the awaiting Hogwarts express. It was good to be back. As usual, his appearance was met with awed expressions taking a permanent residence in the faces of all the first years milling about.

 A large hand came to rest at his shoulder, “Some things never change, huh mate?”, Ron chucked and Hermione smiled as they looked around to see if they could find any of their friends amidst the raging chaos.

 Harry knew he shouldn’t be worrying but the long separation that the summer break had entailed had birthed a deep sense of longing in him and so he swept his gaze over the mass of people around him, desperate for at least a glimpse of the signature white-blond hair. As the train whistled once, Harry broke out of his reverie to find Hermione beckoning him to board the train and as he drew closer, she softly whispered in his ear, “You know he’s going to be on the train, right? Stop worrying harry, you’ll find him in there”.

 “I do hope so”, he thought silently as they boarded the train and started looking for empty compartments. On finding one, they quickly settled in and as the train began to move, Harry started thinking of a good reason to go out again this soon. Had he not been preoccupied with his thoughts, he would have noticed the small smile that Ron and Hermione shared as they looked at him.

 “Harry, you can go”, Hermione said, smiling fondly at her friend.

 “It’s alright mate, we understand, go get your Slytherin prince”, Ron teased as he noticed the blush gracing his raven-haired friend’s cheek.

 “You guys are the best”, Harry swooped down to hug both his friends at once and practically skipped out of the compartment.

 “He’s gotten it bad, hasn’t he?”, he asked. “He has”, she replied laughing softly.

 As soon as he closed the compartment door and looked up, he had his breath knocked out by two bodies hugging him at the same time. Blaise and Pansy had grown quite close to Harry over the past year and they were really fond of the green-eyed boy who had managed to thaw the ‘ice prince’.

 “Hey blaise, pans, go on inside, ron, and mione are in there.”

 “Sure darling, we all know what’s gotten you this impatient now don’t we? Won’t even speak to us properly”, Pansy said laughing. Harry felt his cheeks warm at her words and was supremely grateful when Blaise came to his rescue and said, “You’re one to talk pans, all of us know how eager you are to see hermione.” Laughing at her red face, he turned to Harry and said, “Go on, he’s right around the corner”. And with that, both of them went into the compartment.

 Harry felt his heartbeat increase the closer he got to the turning, his throat had gone dry and his palms seemed to be sweating out of nowhere. He turned the corner and his vision tunneled, his breath hitched when his eyes focused on the person before him, for there stood Draco Malfoy, tendrils of sunlight dancing in his white blonde hair, his pale skin emanating an ethereal glow while his beautiful mercury eyes mapped the landscape passing by.

 “Draco……”

 His name being called, laced in the softest of sighs, by the voice that had haunted his dreams for years compelled Draco to look at its source.  As clear jade met cool mercury, Draco could do none but surge forward to capture the soft pink lips with his own, for even now, after all this time, Draco would never cease to be amazed by the beauty of one Harry Potter.

 They kissed for what seemed to both of them like an eternity, the sweet pressure of their lips on each other conveying way more than words could ever hope to relay, their longing for each other, enhanced because of the months of separation, evident in the way Draco wrapped his arms possessively around Harry’s waist while Harry buried his hands in the silky silver strands.

 Overcome by the raw emotions at play, Harry hoists himself up and wraps his legs around Draco’s waist, a gesture so common in their interactions, that Draco smoothly tightens his arms and is not fazed in the slightest as he anchor’s the smaller boy’s weight, all the while peppering soft kisses down Harry’s throat.

 After yet another deep kiss that sends shivers down Harry’s spine, they break apart when the need for oxygen becomes too prominent to ignore and rest their foreheads together to just drink in each other’s presence. Harry feels right at home in Draco’s arms with his citrusy scent and his familiar warmth, so much so that he loses himself, and so starts when Draco speaks up for the first time. His eyes gleaming mischievously, he softly whispers into Harry’s ear.

 “So I can assume it’s true when the say that the Gryffindor lions can be quite feisty in bed, huh harry?”

 His breathless laughter rings out as Harry replies, “Well I can’t say about the others but you’ve got the golden lion of Gryffindor draco, rumor is, he can be quite something under the covers, after all he is the best out there”.

 “Well no surprises there, Malfoys do deserve the very best”.

 Harry lets himself down with a smile at that and says, “I’ve missed you so much draco”.

 “There wasn’t a moment that went by without your thought in my mind Harry, and it will be so forever, remember that always”. Draco smiles as Harry ducks his head to hide his blush, mumbling something along the lines of ‘silver tongued arse’.

 “Silver tongued indeed, in more ways than one, love”, Draco replies.

 “That’s it Malfoy, it’s time to lay back on the smooth talk and return to the compartment, I’m sure they’re missing us by now”.

 “Of course”, says a highly amused Draco, smirking as he drops a kiss on Harry’s head and takes his hand to lead them back to the compartment.

[blankdblank]

The Bump

…

“I was speaking.” Loki was now leaving the crowded party you had your fill of and were now escaping in a sly sort of stroll, at least until his storm after you. True he was speaking, your way more eloquent teammate you had been tasked to ensure didn’t stab the guest, now gone homewards themselves. A task done freeing you to slip out leaving the casual conversationalist to his comfort in the group now shifted on their feet to watch the Prince follow you around the balcony path to get into your room window in an emptier path than weaving through the crowded tower.

Up to your side the suit clad Prince strolled easing his jacket off and around your shoulders hoping to keep his composure and tone when the breeze had blown the layered dip in the front of your silk dress sure to flash more of your already alluring curves. The barely noticeable outline of what he assumed to be stickers over your nipples keeping the clear reaction of hardened nubs other women at the party had no care to flash in the crisp Tower or cool nights breeze. Another flash of your lotioned thigh through the high slit your hands were managing to keep from tripping held his gaze a moment until your head turned to face him and he held his gaze between those shimmering eyes he knew would make him melt if he allowed himself to stare at them even for a moment too long.

“Did you really just knock into me and then wander off? Tony tasked you to watch me.”

With a nod you replied, “Yes, to keep you from Sven, who is now on his way home, so job well done. Just wanted to let you and all your social awesomeness soar without me ask your anchor.”

“Anchor?” hastily he wet his lips and said, “That still does not explain the knock into my side.”

“First, it’s a hip bump. I didn’t think you’d be cool with a hug, or even a side hug and I’m not cool enough to pull off a fist bump without making it awkward so it was my way of saying, have fun, I’m gonna slip out.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you want to leave? Did I say something?” You shook your head and his eyes narrowed in a protective near growl, “Did someone else say something?”

“No.”

“Then why, you look stunning, no other woman-,”

“No other woman was told to be there,” his brows furrowed in confusion, “Tony didn’t ask me, didn’t even care to think I might have plans,” Loki’s eyes scoured yours trying to understand your discomfort, “And please don’t take this as my dislike in being near you or working with you, out of everyone I’m probably the most comfortable with you, with Vision as a close second until he starts asking me questions on topics I don’t know. But,”

You wet your lips and he asked, “But what?”

“I’m not friends with any of them. Twelve of them called me Georgina for half the night, I don’t think I’ve ever met a Georgina. Natasha picked this dress and Nebula picked the shoes and for some reason your brother picked my glitter eye shadow and insisted on braiding my hair like this, but, I wasn’t asked. And you were just stuck with me and my floundering people skills.”

“You were flawless in there.”

“I people watch Loki, I don’t schmooze, I don’t win people over, and I certainly know that wasn’t Tchaikovsky playing on the harp unlike Ned had tried to claim,” making the Prince smirk for a moment, “I have a quota of people time when I deal with crowds, and this,” you exhaled sharply, “This is easily taking up March’s slot.”

“I understand completely. What would you like to do? Or, rather, what had you planned to do?”

“I wanted to put on my comfy clothes and go to the monster marathon down at the Q with nachos and one of those near endless soda slushies that no doubt would have me darting back and forth to the bathroom half the night,” his smirk widening the more you talked at its luring your confident grin out more, “with take out and a blanket fort to come back to finishing off the marathon back here from my box set I got.”

“Let’s go then.”

“Go?”

He nodded, “To the Q.”

“Loki, it’s nearly two in the morning, it ended hours ago.”

After another nod he said, “Your room then, blanket fort I’ll ask Peter to pick us up some nacho supplies and slushies on his way back from his friend,” already with his phone out texting Peter.

“But, your party..”

His eyes flinched back up to yours, “Tony’s party, I came because he said you were coming, had I known you wished to leave earlier I would have ensured we had made the marathon. I apologize I have not yet mastered the variation between your natural smile and one to encourage forced social interactions. I will continue to work on that. Had you not been there seeming so at ease Thor and I no doubt would be hurling chairs and daggers out of sheer boredom.”

Through a hint of a smirk you asked, “You hurl chairs out of boredom?”

Loki nodded, “Usually with people still in them. A feat of strength on Asgard.”

“Remind me never to sit if I visit.” Making him chuckle lowly and join you in walking again.

“Women are not allowed as projectiles. With the exception of Lady Sif when she is on fire.”

Over a planter wall he climbed hoping to help you down the other side only to fall off it when you asked, “Oh, is she your girlfriend? Thor talks about you both a lot.”

Onto his feet he scrambled and stared at you wide eyed, “Thor stated we were a couple?!”

“Well, not in so many words. Is it one of those hushed engagements or something? I know you’ve said Odin wasn’t a big fan of yours is he objecting her family or job? She is very pretty, and strong, and the whole fire thing is cool too…Fire and ice, pretty standard super hero duo, good for you working that out.”

His hand was extended helping you over while your focus was on your dress and once your feet were on the ground his hands settled on your shoulders snapping your eyes to his, “I have no intentions or bond with Lady Sif past her link as a friend to my brother.” He stated firmly asserting the fact.

“Oh, okay.” You nodded, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume, honestly I only hear a few scattered stories here and there without many details, so, for all I know you could have a whole harem of, well, people, or creatures,” his brow inched up, “Is being, better? I mean, you’re not technically aliens there. Would people be bad, is that too much of a human, thing?”

Deeply in a sigh his body leaned in and his forehead tapped yours against his urge to force a kiss or embrace. “There are no harems.” When he pulled back he locked his eyes on yours stating, “I have no romantic ties to anyone, Thor would have been the one with a harem had mother allowed it.” Releasing his hold on you his hand dropped to claim one of yours stating in a turn to keep guiding you onwards to your window, “Tomorrow I will ask Heimdall to bring us to Asgard.”

“Ugh,” his head turned to see your head slump back and eye roll then turn to face him and his raised brow, “Marathon tonight and planet tour tomorrow? I’ll be worse than hung over, on the verge of dead. I won’t be nice until I get at least ten hours sleep, and breakfast.”

Chuckling again he said, “It could be a night tour, with a guest room for your use with a fuller tour in the morning after breakfast.”

“That’s a lot-,”

“A well earned tour. Besides, Thor is expected back anyways.” At your window he paused stating, “There is no opening.”

“Huh,” you mumbled walking to the window he tentatively followed you to and watched you walk through it and allowed him to pass through it as well, “don’t really need one.”

“If you can walk through walls, how do crowds trouble you?”

“For one I tend to cause heart attacks when I do, and my clothes usually fall off.”

“Oh,”

“yup, not very good at parties. At least for me.”

A split to change was all the time you needed it seemed and through the door Peter came with armfuls of goods on various trays sizzling hot around the tray balancing from around his neck across his chest coated in various slushies . “Okay, I didn’t know which kind of chips you wanted so I got all of them, same with the slushies. Each monster flick is different and Mr Loki wasn’t specific so I got a full spread to choose from.” Across the bench storage you usually used as a makeshift building cube table he set it all out and settled opposite Loki on your free side ready to start the marathon. An unexpected addition to the Prince’s intended guest list, however eventually Peter would grow bored or be called away leaving just you two. And until then his company was enjoyable in adding to the commentary on the films slowly dying at your joint slump and curl up falling asleep to the latest take on the Wolfman tale.

Breakfast however didn’t help wake you at all and the Prince beamed even in your climb up him to sprawl across his shoulders dropping into another nap for the trip between worlds ending with his tucking you into the biggest softest bed possible before chasing Thor nearly to death at his implication that he wasn’t single and able to be yours.

@himoverflowers​​, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator​​, @sweeticedtea​​, @ggbbhehe4455​​, @thegreyberet​​, @patanghill17​​, @jesgisborne​​, @curvestrology​​, @alishlieb​, @jogregor​​, @armitageadoration​​, @fizzyxcustard​​, @here2have-fun​​, @lilith15000​​, @marvels-ghost​​, @catthefearless​​, @imjusthereforthereads​​, @c-s-stars​​, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​

[trvelyans-archive]

the distance traveled & that which has yet to be

a commission for the lovely @bluekaddis of their oc lizabeth trevelyan and cullen post-tresspasser !!! angst is my Jam and i was very excited to work on this piece (poor lizzie has been through the ringer) and i’m very pleased with out it turned out. thank you for trusting me with your gal !!! learning more about her was a delight and i hope you enjoy this sweet little moment between your babies <3

cullen/inquisitor, hurt/comfort, 2100 words.

---

The Inquisitor’s quarters remain as they left them.

One of Lizzie’s first bows hangs on a plaque above the fireplace; a couple of her sketches sit dusty in ornate golden frames on her desk, on her bedside tables. It’s just as drafty and cold as Cullen remembers. It’s just as safe.

Yet he hurries to shut the balcony doors anyway while Lizzie sets down their bags on the bed, the mattress protesting loudly as she sits down next to them. When he’s sure the doors are pulled shut, enough that they won’t be thrown open in the wind like they have been in the past, he turns around, wiping his hands on the front of his pants, and smiles at her.

“It’s good to be back, isn’t it?” he says softly as he wanders towards her, late night sun slanting across the stone floor in muted orange stripes. “I was sorely missing our usual daily routine while we were in Orlais…”

Lizzie nods and smiles but says nothing further, brushing her fingers wistfully over her arm. She’s pulled at the knot so that her sleeve hangs limp and open, now, and Cullen still isn’t used to the way that one of her beautiful archer’s hands is missing as she does so.

He loves her no less without it. The Anchor was causing her so much pain and grief at the end that he’s glad it’s gone – it was killing her, after all, but that was obvious to anyone who had looked or spent a few minutes in her presence when it was lashing out. He’s not glad how much grief it causes her still, though. He hates it.

He wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what to say anymore. He’s told her over and over again that she’s strong, that she’s still whole, that she’s still beautiful, and yet, no matter how many times he says it, no matter how tearful he is when he does, she doesn’t believe him.

He loves her just the same and she thinks that he shouldn’t.

She remains silent, and, not knowing what else to say, he suggests they dress for bed. It will be nightfall soon enough, and Lizzie’s been falling asleep earlier and earlier every day since the events of the Winter Council to the point he’s worried sometimes that she’s going to turn in for bed in the middle of the afternoon. Thankfully, she agrees, hastily removing clothes from her pack until she reaches her nightgown and disappearing into her washing room to change. Cullen sighs, stripping down until he’s left in nothing more than a pair of thin brown pants and a white shirt, and waits on the bed for her return.

She climbs beneath the covers as soon as she emerges, and he moves to follow. “Harritt is close to finishing up your new sword, last I heard from him,” Cullen says hesitantly, standing up and moving around to his side of the bed, crawling in after. “I was sure to tell him to make it lightweight so it won’t give you any trouble.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, leaning back against the headboard.

Cullen clears his throat. “Would you still like to learn?” he asks quietly. “If not, I can –“

“Yes,” she says. “I still want to learn.”

“You will,” he replies softly, leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead and then deciding against it. “Thankfully, you’ll have a great teacher. Cassandra’s very excited –“

She turns her head to stare at him incredulously, the ghost of a smile on her face.

“I’m kidding, pup,” he laughs under his breath, shuffling closer and wrapping his arm around her waist, loosely enough that she can move if she wants to. “I’ve been looking forward to this, believe it or not. It’ll be fun, just the two of us. And I will be a good teacher, I promise. Don’t let Cassandra tell you otherwise. You’re not one of my recruits, and I’m not going to treat you like one. Okay?”

“Okay,” she murmurs, and the small smile she had vanishes, no trace of it left behind.

He doesn’t know what to do anymore. He’s tired of this. That sounds selfish and yet he doesn’t stop himself from feeling it anyway. He loves her. He’s always loved her. Why won’t she believe him? She was like this before, and he allowed her to be, he accepted her to be – they’ve both been through enough things in the past to warrant discretion, even on his behalf. But they moved past that. This doesn’t change anything. Why does she think it does?

But she’s settled against the welcoming curve of his arm and that’s something, at least. He moves even closer, his other hand daring beneath the covers to rest on her thigh.

“You’re not hungry?” he asks. “It’s not too late to ask the maid if she’ll bring something to eat –“

“I’m fine,” Lizzie answers, her eyes distant.

Cullen sighs and knows she doesn’t hear it. He tentatively moves the hand around her waist further until it’s splayed open on her stomach, and he feels her stiffen but not move away. That makes him smile. Maybe tonight, in a familiar place, in a familiar position, he’ll bend the rules a little and get away with it. Maybe she’ll move ahead in her healing process.

He just wants to hug her.

Lightly, his fingertips follow the slope of her stomach, from below her bellybutton to the tightest point of her abdomen. She doesn’t stop him, but he can see her curling the sheets of the bed with a white-knuckled grip. He lowers his chin to her shoulder and tilts his forehead against her temple, breathing softly against her neck in an effort to comfort her, a way to tell her ‘I love you’ without her being able to deny it.

He moves over the fabric between her breasts and she gasps, suddenly, pushing him away.

He’s seen the wounds that the anchor left behind a few times, all when the healers were first working on her at the Winter Palace. She hasn’t let him see them since. He thought they had healed, now, scarred over – he didn’t know they still hurt.

“Are you okay?” he breathes as she pulls away from him.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” she replies, reaching up to brush some hair behind her ear, but it’s been recently shortened in a way she’s not used to so it falls back in front of her face immediately, obscuring her from view as her eyes begin flitting across the room and never coming to rest on his face, which is screwed up with worry and red with embarrassment.

“Was it painful? I-I can fetch a salve of some kind -”

“No,” she says. “No, it was fine.”

“Lizzie,” he murmurs.

“I’m just tired,” she says with a forced smile. “We should go to bed.”

“Lizzie.”

His voice cracks and he didn’t mean for it to, but he can’t help it. “Please, talk to me,” he says, shifting so he’s sitting in front of her, holding his hand open on the bed in case she wants to take it. “I love you. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“You don’t want to know –“

“Yes, I do!” He leans closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I love you more than anything, but I don’t know how to love you the way you want me to. In fact, I don’t know if you want me to love you at all.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because!” The word comes out on a croak and tears begin to well in her eyes before she even takes another breath. “I’m… I don’t deserve it.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“Because I’m a fool!” she says. “I… I tricked everyone in the Inquisition to follow me under Solas’ guidance! Where are we now, Cullen? A castle he showed me! And I let him go! And I… I…”

She struggles to swallow amidst the heavy flow of tears.

“I let everyone down,” she breathes. “I let you down.”

“Lizzie –“

“And you don’t want to touch me, Cullen, or be married to me, or see me,” she continues. “You don’t want to see my scars or my arm or my…”

He moves closer. “Lizzie –“

“I’m useless,” she interrupts. “I’m bloody useless. I’m nothing.”

After that, he can’t manage to say anything else. If he does, he’ll start crying, and that will get them nowhere. For a long, long moment, he watches her face and thinks – he strategizes. As a Commander, sometimes that can be what he does best.

She thinks she’s useless, that she’s a failure, but she isn’t. There are so many people all over Ferelden who have been aided by the Inquisition under her orders; she helped rebuild the Templars and gave them a future under a more peaceful rule. She is kind to everyone she meets, more forgiving than some people deserve. She’ll risk her life for the people she loves – her journey through the Eluvians proved that much.

He loves her so much, and he would not have waited by her bedside for three days and three nights until she woke up after her confrontation with Solas, after her ‘failure’, if he didn’t.

He tells her these, slowly, one by one, ensuring she can understand it every time. She lets him take her hand and hold it to his lips, gracing her knuckles with the softest kisses he can manage, the only ones he thinks she’ll allow. The sun disappears beneath the mountains eventually, replaced with a sky full of twinkling stars and a shining silver moon, and he continues, naming the things he loves about her until he runs out breath, and the only reason he does is because she kisses him.

It’s the first time she’s really kissed him since he let her go through the Eluvian. He’s kissed her since, but she hasn’t kissed him first. This time she does. This time she lets it linger.

He leans forward to cup her face, savouring the taste of her lips against his, the tenderness she touches his mouth with. She wraps her arm around his neck and draws her against him, and only when he’s firmly pressed against her does he let his hand fall down towards her breasts again, to the ties in the middle of her shirt that he grabs the end of between his thumb and his forefinger.

“Can I?” he asks as he draws away from her, looking at her in question.

She nods, and his heart soars.

He tugs the string and her collar falls open, revealing spindly webs of dark green scarring, the kind on someone’s skin after they’re struck by lightning. He grits his teeth and closes his mouth so she doesn’t see and so she doesn’t think it’s about her. It’s not about her. It’s about everything that’s hurt her and everything that will. She wouldn’t believe that.

Determined, he grazes his fingertips over the scarring and the soft skin of her breast, soft despite the jagged lines cut through it. With his other hand he pushes her sleeves down her arm, revealing her whole chest to him, painted navy blue in the darkness, the rise and fall of her chest like the gentle ebb and flow of ocean waves on a quiet night, an unusual sight after a month of storms. When he glances up at her face, she’s watching him with rapt attention, and still she doesn’t push him away.

Progress.

He sits up until he can crawl closer, his knees on either side of her legs as he bows his head to brush his mouth over the scars. She winds her arm further around his shoulders and draws him closer until he scarcely has enough room for air but he’s not complaining, really, when she’s the one who spent a month drowning in silence and he’s only now helping her start to float again. He can feel her tears dripping onto his head as he works his way down her body, and it makes him falter.

Her heart is beating madly in her chest and he rests his forehead against it.

“Maker,” he whispers hoarsely, barely managing to hold back tears, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice this time. When he raises his head to kiss her again, it’s still there. It stays throughout the kiss and long after it’s over.

It’s good to be home, even if home is a little different now. It’s still home, and she’s still here, and he still loves her, and it feels like she’s beginning to remember that.

[cchellacat]

Vacation (Part 2 of It’s Not A Cuddle)

Love All The Marvel Ships Challenge 

Day Nine ~ Hanging Out With Friends

She stared Steve down as he locked his jaw and gave her that judgmental holier than thou frowny face. God, the guy was such a disapproving stick in the mud sometimes.  She bet he shit in red white and blue too, the sanctimonious party pooper.   They didn’t come any more Apple Pie than good old Captain America.  But Darcy had had enough, this was her home too, technically it was her home first. Not that Rogers had figured that out yet.  She knew the others had and she also knew the pool down in security was pushing ten thousand at this point on when he would find out.  

“Bucky’s got a long road of recovery ahead, he needs quiet, not your usual brand of disturbance Darcy. I know you’re a good person, that you’ll respect my position in this.  Just keep your distance for a while, I think your behaviour is confusing him.”

Darcy mentally counted to ten, then ten again and just for good measure started reciting the periodic table too.  She would not lose her temper in a pointless argument with Captain Righteous.  Except the other part of her brain, the Stark part was screaming in the back of her head to taser him in the balls.

“Look Steve.  I know you mean well, but Bucky’s a big boy, he can use his words just fine.  If he doesn’t want me around, he can tell me himself, but I am not abandoning him just because you’re jealous.”

Steve glared down at her while she sneered back.

“I have no interest in you Miss Lewis.”

“I never said you did. I’m not blind and this isn’t 1940 anymore.  You’re losing your cool because your BAE has been flirting with me nonstop since I gave him a ‘Welcome Back, Glad You’re Not Brainwashed’, cupcake back in June.”

“I am not jealous Miss Lewis, Bucky is like a brother to me.”

“Sure you aren’t, and the Lannister’s were just siblings too, doesn’t mean they didn’t bang like rabbits.”  

Her sarcasm was so thick she could probably cut it with a knife.

Steve went a brilliant shade of puce and stalked away.  

Darcy watched him go and wrinkled her nose.  This was getting ridiculous; the guy had a massive bug up his butt about Bucky spending so much time with her.  What he needed was to pull the stick out of his ass and have some fun.  When she really thought about, all of them could use a little down time.  When was the last time any of them had had a vacation?  Probably not since before the Mandarin had blown up the house in Malibu.  Darcy hums to herself as she makes her way down to Tony’s workshop.

“Hey Pop, Peter.  What you doing?”

Tony was elbow deep in a piece of machinery and Peter was hanging upside down from the ceiling peering at whatever their dad was pointing out to him with an expression of awe.

“Just some adjustments for the engine we’re putting together”

“Cool, you building a car as some sort of father son bonding exercise?”

Tony and Peter shared an identical look of mischief and Darcy felt the hair on the back of her head rise in warning.  That was never good, the last time they had worked on something there had been doppelgangers popping in and out through portals to alternate universes, the clean up on that mess had been a bitch.  As always it had landed in her lap to deal with the fall out.  On the other hand, it had been really sweet getting to meet her counterpart in another world. In that one she was happily married to one James Buchannan Barnes with a baby on the way.  She really hoped it worked out for them, they seemed really happy together.

That world had been running a little ahead time wise though, so she figured her own delectable Mr Barnes and she had plenty of time to get their romance on the way to happily ever after, or at least she had till Captain Cockblock started lurking around every time she managed to get some alone time with him.

There was a clunk and spark from the table the boys were messing with which brought her attention back to the possible trouble the two were no doubt brewing.

“Do I have to call Mom and tell her you guys are “Up To Something” again?”

Twin looks of terror washed across their faces and the curl of satisfaction in Darcy’s gut turned her grin wicked.

“Darcy, light of my life, child of my heart, what can dear old dad do to keep you from ratting me out to Pepper?”

The look of delighted triumph that sprang up told Tony he was going to regret offering almost cart blanch for whatever scheme his daughter had concocted this time.

“Can the new house in Malibu be ready for guests this time next week?”

“Why?”

“I think the Avengers and their various support staff and significant others could really do with a vacation, some family time to recharge after the craptastic year and half we’ve had.  I’ll even arrange some cover for a week with Xavier. What do you say, family Va-kay?”

Tony let go a long suffering sigh and gave her ‘The Look’ TM.

“I’m not gonna get out of this am I?”

“Nope.”

“Fine, but if Barton breaks anything it’s coming out of your allowance.”

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

“Bucky, are we cuddling again?”

For a long minute he just continues to hold her close, tucked into his arms protectively.  She squirms a little till he slackens his hold enough for her to look up and check his eyes.  Well that’s good, no Winter Soldier today, but something must have triggered him, he’d been doing much better in the month since she’d dropped Sam in that vat of goo.

“Umm, sorry Darcy.”  He shrugs a little and goes to step back but the squishy part of her heart has just been bent out of shape again and she wraps her arms around his waist and buries her nose in his chest.

“No sorry’s allowed Bucky-Bear.  We can hug now it’s fine, I like cuddles, remember?” Her playful tone has him slipping his arms around her again and she melts into his embrace.  

They stand that way for a few minutes, leaning into each other.  It’s the strangest way a guy has ever come onto her in her life, but she’s learning to appreciate these odd moments when Bucky just seems to need an anchor.  

For whatever reason, almost as soon as he’s been brought to the Tower, it was Darcy who had been his focus when the world around him got to be too much.  Natasha thought it was because Darcy was the least threatening looking person there, Clint was adamant that Darcy just looked like the softest most cuddly woman imaginable and that Barnes was probably a boob man.  Tony had got a pinched look on his face and told her that she probably reminded Barnes of the pin ups the guys back in the day would have postcards of, that the familiarity was a comfort.  To be honest she could see the merit in all the answers, it was probably a combination of the three.  Also, bonus for her because he was an absolute snack.  Who wouldn’t want to be wrapped up in the embrace of a six-foot super soldier with muscles like that?  Just being around him gave her the shivers, the good kind, and his eyes were a thing of beauty.  Anytime he had her caged in his arms she felt safe and warm and was tempted to start purring like a kitten.

The only thing stopping her from moving things forward was Captain “I can do this all day” Rogers.  Every time it seemed like Bucky was going to go in for a real, honest to goodness kiss the Captain would show up and she’d be back at square one.

Well, she was going to fix that.  She had plans to make, lots of villain level plans that were going to get her laid, damn it. All she needed was the house in Malibu, Sharon Carter and a little favour from Fury.  

“What are you plotting, Doll?  I can almost hear the wheels turning in you brain.”

“How would you feel about a little sun, some time by the pool and me in a bikini?”

“Sounds like a plan. How are you gonna pull it off?”

“I have my ways.”

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

  A week later Darcy settled into the hot tub and was quickly pulled onto Bucky’s knee.  One arm held her securely over her waist and the other handed her a drink.  She snuggled back and bit her lip as he nuzzled into her neck and placed tiny kisses at the juncture of her shoulder, sweet mother of Thor she could get used to this.  Everything had went off without a hitch.  Currently Fury had sent Steve and Sharon undercover for a month, a conveniently timed operation in Russia.  Without the good Captain to muck up her plans the rest of the Avengers had all headed to Malibu and the new house to take some vacation days.  

Everyone looked happy and relaxed.  Clint and Laura and the kids were by the pool, the kids getting a swimming lesson from Sam.  Laura was snuggled into Clint’s side on the double lounger as the archer read a book.

Peter, MJ and Ned were playing volley ball on the beach a little way down with Tony, Pepper and Happy.

Natasha was lying on a lounger, Bruce happily rubbing lotion into her back, they’d been doing that for a while now and no one was about to mention it or even raise an eyebrow.

Across the hot tub from them, Thor and Jane were enjoying a little cuddle time of their own.  

Sipping on her Mojito as Bucky’s fingers skimmed the edge of her bikini bottoms Darcy felt like everything had fallen into place nicely.  This was exactly what they had needed.  Just a nice relaxing time away from New York, the whole gang getting the chance to hang out together without the usual pressures and stresses of every day Avenging business.  

Without Steve to cock block her at every turn Bucky been in had every night since they arrived.  With both of them able to relax they had fallen into a nice routine of going to bed early and getting up late.  This morning had been especially good, waking up in his arms and exchanging sleepy kisses he had told her he loved her and then he’d shown her just how much with as much enthusiasm as he could.  

“We should do this every year Darcy.”  Bucky told her she traced her fingers over the plates in his arm.

“What, get Steve sent off for a month?”  she throws him a cheeky grin, the responding smile and chuckle and the sweet kiss he plants on her cheek brings a swell of happiness in her heart.

“No, just this, spend time together as a family, just hanging out, having fun.  Think everyone needed it, even you Doll.  You haven’t pranked anyone once since we got here.”

“Well I did promise Tony not to break anything.”

“And I know you’re more than capable of coming up with ways to inconvenience people without property damage.”

“Tony would disagree, he had to rip out the whole air filtration system at the tower three months ago on account of the number of glitter bombs that I’ve set off.”

“You never did tell me where you had Fury send Steve?”

The feral smile that graces her lips makes his cock twitch.

“Well…..  you remember that Sharon’s been working with Interpol on infiltrating a Russian human trafficking ring?  I had Fury send her Steve to help out.  Right now, he’ll be sitting in a brothel in St Petersburg which is being used as a front for illegal money laundering and weapons distribution. Sharon said she’d send him in as a customer, you know, get him a regular girl and turn an asset for them.”

Bucky choked on his drink then threw his head back and laughed.  She giggled right along with him, the thought of Steve stuck in that situation gave her a ridiculous level of satisfaction.

“Doll, I love you, don’t ever change.”

“I love you too soldier.”

He kissed her then, right in front of everyone.  The wolf whistle from Clint had her flipping him off while she closed her eyes and sank into Bucky’s warmth.

Best.  Vacation.  Ever.

NEXT

@captain-rogers-beard

[foxofsunholt]

How would waking up next to the RO's be like? 👀👀

i just did the whole morning lmfao under the cut because it got long!

The sun streams in through thin silk curtains, Adelaide is curled up against your side, as though she’s trying to melt into you. As though she might be freezing or will be if you leave her side. You’re awake before her, but she’s up seconds later, pushing herself so she can half-sit to look at you. Her hair sticks up at the sides, and she can’t quite open her eyes all the way. “Hey there,” her voice is slow and thick with her early-morning rasp. She falls back down and moves back to sleep; you’ll wake again in a few minutes when she gathers the energy to bounce out of bed and pull you with her with a whirlwind of laughter. The promise of adventure is on her lips.

On yours is the taste of the honey she pours into her tea.

The smell of lavender pulls you from your sleep. As you stretch and yawn, Camille slips back into bed with two cups of warm tea (or coffee). She leans over you to place a cup by your bedside, kissing you lightly as she goes. She’s always awake before you, and never with much to say about it. She cautiously moves to sit beside you, craving contact but not having the confidence to admit it. Like clockwork, she lifts a book off her bedside table (the same book she was reading before she went to bed) and sips her tea slowly. It’s a very calm ritual, and though she never says it, you can see how happy she is. 

Luckily for you both, there’s no better feeling than settling into Camille’s soft bed with a warm cup of tea—your body resting against hers as she reads. Like a pocket of rest before the both of you set out on your morning routines. 

Waking up Faith is both the most rewarding and challenging task you’ve ever had to face. No matter what time it is when you eventually pull yourself from slumber, she will still be fast asleep, her pink hair spread around her like a halo. She looks so happy there that it always feels like a crime to stir her, but if you don’t, she gives you a pout that’s just heart-breaking (”Why didn’t you wake me up? I could have made you breakfast!”). Waking her up is a lot like bargaining with a demon, or what you image bargaining with a demon would be like. 

The best tapping and pushing does is get her to flutter her eyes open to smile at the sight of you before she mumbles an incoherent mess. It’s the rewards that get her to move.

A kiss for her to let you go, two kisses to get her to pull the cover away…..but you take caution, the demon has its tricks. She will ask for more, but you must refuse. 

Any more and neither of you will leave the bed.

You wake just minutes before Mars does, holding you close in his arms, with his lips turned up in the smallest of smiles. You like to press a kiss to the tip of his nose, just to watch the way it crinkles as he grumbles awake. Before he can finish saying “good morning”, he presses the softest of kisses to your cheek. You do the same. Neither of you want to move so Mars is the first to pull the cover off you both and let the cold morning air sting against your bare legs. Sometimes, he likes to grab the whole comforter for himself and roll into a ball (though he usually rolls himself right off the bed). His lips crack into a lopsided smirk as you reach out for the cover. You chase him around the room for it, but by the end, you don’t care about it anymore. 

It’s a different game each morning, but your favorite is the non-game.

The one where he’s up just seconds before you, and you catch him smiling to himself—eyes full of love. His words are a little different every time, but the meaning is always there.

“I love you”

and you feel the same.

Sid’s body is never in the place it started. A few times you’ve woken up to find him half on the floor, only his legs left on the bed. You tap whatever limb of his is in reach….but you remember, of course, that his favorite thing to do is to pretend he can’t feel you until you move close enough for him to pull you into a hug that’s just a little too tight for so early in the morning. Yet, you don’t move.

Despite owning a bed you both tested thoroughly, there’s no place more comfortable than in his arms, your head on his chest so you can feel his steady heartbeat anchor you in place. 

“Should I make breakfast today?” You can feel his deep voice reverberate through you. You tell him he should, because if you have to deal with being dragged into a hug before you can even rub sleep from your eyes, you deserve some breakfast. 

That and he’s your favorite chef.

The bed sinks as you lean over to see if Yoon is really asleep (he likes to pretend to sleep just so he can sneak in a few extra minutes in bed). His favorite thing to do is have you explore the night with him, which leaves the morning so hard to get past. You have to get up though, you have a job and things to do and was it really necessary for Yoon to hire a sorcerer to add extra magical comfort to your bed? 

Just as your thoughts provoke a grumble from your mouth, Yoon speaks: “why don’t we just…stay in?”

You look at him, the very man who caused your problem in the first place. He smiles back at you.

You end up staying in, but only because Yoon promises to do all your work and throw in a massage. 

You make sure not to tell him that you would have stayed in anyway. Besides, the nights are always better than the days.

[foxeyesam]

Sneaking through River Flood

Sam/Dean, beard shaving, 14x03 coda (spoilers) PG. hurt/comfort.

(I had to immediately after the episode... also, I recommend Nothings gonna Hurt You and Apocalypse by Cigarettes After Sex for this, i had them on repeat...)

Dean’s tired after all of it, the drive back, the bunker, the Chief thing, reuniting and introductions… the whole… wearing not-his clothes thing.

Sam gives him his space, moves around him to make sure everyone else has to go through him first. Protecting the bubble Dean needs right now, doing it with a quiet full calm.  Dean makes quips where he usually seems to, but skirts edges and keeps his peripherals checked.

Sam asks, gets the response he expects. He understands. Not now, it’s too fresh, too soon… too confusing still.

Sam’s amused by Dean’s reaction to his beard at least, heartwarmed to have his jerk of a brother back, didn’t think about how he still had it, how that would be different for Dean. Irked and uncomfortable that there is so much of his Sam hidden halfway under it all.

Dean just wants Familiar right now. Sam understands, but he also finds it endearing the way Dean adamantly scoffs at it while everyone else seems charmed.

Sam considers shaving it almost immediately, but Sam also has enough little brother left in him to be captivated by seeing Dean to squirm about such strange things… especially ones that have to do with Sam.

In 9th grade, it was that one time Sam came home after making out with Ashley in her car for half an hour past his curfew. She had worn auburn lipstick that made their kisses sticky and thick, the taste pushing itself into his memory already as he crept back into the house with his heart escalated and kicking in his throat, snuck into their room giddy-quiet. He remembers expecting his big brother’s approval, suffering so many informative sex stories that encouraged him to follow example, but instead he got an agitated Dean, snapping and throwing a wet face cloth at him from the bathroom telling him to wipe off that damn lipstick, you look like a girl.

Or that summer of ’99, when Sam hit his growth spirt and grew up, up, up; tall and lean into the sky, able to look eye-to-eye with Dean and pinning him for the very first time in their combat practices. He felt his body hot and big over Dean’s, felt for the first time Dean genuinely struggle underneath him. Sam remembers it vividly: the hot Arizona sun, the smell of the dirt and the sharp mint of grass torn up by their scuffle, the echoes of a distant community baseball game carried over the dry air. The tickle of Dean’s hair against Sam’s cheek, the flex and pull of his muscles meeting Sam’s hold. The elbow Dean throw back in blind reptilian panic, clocking Sam right in the jaw. The speckle of blood he spat out on the dirt, how some of it landed on Dean’s face where he had twisted onto his back and was staring up at Sam in hot, wild-eyed shock… how they stayed like that a minute too long, Dean’s pink cheeks dirt-smeared and speckled with brother blood, Sam copper-mouthed right above him, blocking the sun, and tingling with the adrenaline of domination. Until the crack of a baseball against bat broke the locked moment, like a snap of fingers through hypnosis.

Now is different though, Sam thinks. Now Dean is agitated because it’s too different; a dent in the shield of familiarity he needs right now.

When Sam gets to his room, it’s not long after that Dean lets himself in, too. Weary, soft and a new colour of uncertainty clouding the edges of his meadow eyes. But still, Dean. Still moving easily over.

Sam doesn’t even say hi or ‘everything okay?’ because he knows it’s not, but he feels everything inside of him relax in contentment, in relief. Because there’s Dean, there’s his brother, his other half, alive and breathing and different but here. Back with him.

Dean comes over slowly, different in the face and the eyes, different in his smile, but still all Dean. He gives a little bit of a smirk, a quirk in the corner of his lips and eyebrow, and he raises his hand and shows off his razor in a pointed mission. “Sit, Paul Bunion.”

Sam huffs a laugh, a smile breaking easy and amused, and he lifts a hand to his beard, rubs at it in a way he’s been doing for the last few weeks, it’s soft scratch against the pads of his fingers a comforting grounding sensation. But now he’s got his anchor here, there’s no need for it anymore.

Sam sits down on the edge of the bathtub, and Dean’s shoulders square in approval. He methodically gathers up a bowl of water, a towel, the shaving cream, and sets them on the toilet seat before he stands in front of him and Sam easily moves his thighs apart to let Dean occupy the space between.

Sam watches as Dean’s jaw clenches subtly, watches the flickers of hologram hauntings behind his eyes, knows there’s so much inside of him he can’t quite exorcise just yet. Sam breathes in soft and slow, relaxes completely for Dean, reaches out tentatively to touch a hand softly against Dean’s thigh.

Dean’s eyes soften warmly, pooling, and they find Sam through the fog… they move over the crinkles forming at the corners of Sam’s eyes, over his eyebrows and the worry lines etched in above, down his cheek bones and to the warm bush of beard around his jaw. Dean’s eyes focus, zero in on the foreign difference and he lifts his hands, touches his fingers against the soft scratch and lets the corners of his mouth dip down in disapproval.

Sam can’t help but let a smile twitch under his offensive beard, and he rubs a thumb against the fabric of Dean’s pants.

The simple texture, real and rough, sends a bolt of relief shaking warm lava up his arm and into his bones.

Dean takes his time snipping at what his scissors can slit away and Sam sinks into the feeling of cold metal sliding sharp and thin against his cheek, his jaw, his throat…

the quick tugs with each snip, the tickle of stray hair falling on his neck, his collarbone.

The cool shivers of sensations fuzzing out his nerves.

Snip… snip… snip… the tug of hair, the release. Soft pinches. Weight lifting.

Then Dean places the scissors down, exhales a fuller breath, coming back to himself little by little with this simple task under his hands… his hands.

And Sam knows this is a big part of it: Reforming a relationship with his body through Sam.

Simple motor skills of snips of scissors and now the gel onto brush before he places a hand at the warm base of Sam’s throat and brushes the lathered lotion up his exposed neck… along his sharp jaw… over his scratching cheeks…

Sam watches the desperate single-task focus of Dean’s eyes… the ghost the ripples at the edges every few seconds, and feels his chest swell and ache cold. Understands loss of control, understands powerlessness in his own flesh, but knows the obsessive control Dean’s kept over himself, imagines that one self-trust snapping under his own call, that betrayal of consent he leaned his offering upon.

Dean allowed himself to sacrifice a temporary sense of control but ended up losing all of it. Completely. His body of flesh and blood now a house of transparent, penetrable glass.

Sam feels it in Dean’s gentle fingertips… the soft cradling of his throat…. the whispering cold slide of sharp razor edge against his warm skin, the tug and tickle along each line of gliding stroke.

Fragile, vulnerable, pliable. So Sam is for him, with him.

With his jaw tilted upward, he gazes up at his big brother. He blinks slow and feels young in the eyes, feels old and warm in the chest. Remembers watching Dean do this himself for the first time. Wants to lean forward and hold Dean up against him, pull his abdomen into his chest, act as a second ribcage for all Dean’s softest parts.

The razor slides with a rasp, tinks against the water bowl, comes back cold and wet, sends tingles and sparks along Sam’s jaw, into the back of Sam’s teeth, down low along Sam’s spine…

Sam closes his eyes, bathes himself in the feeling of Dean shaving him back to himself, the air washing cool and clean against his skin. He feels baptised by steel and water, a conduit for renewal.

The razor slides, and Sam sighs, lets Dean tilts his head to the slightest inch by the slightest touch. Rasp, tink, swish. Scrap, clean, wet. A hypnotic spell buzzes over Sam’s brain, tingles the surface of his skin and he sinks low into the feeling, into his brother’s care, welcomes it all.

Then it’s not the cold edge returning to his skin… it’s wet fingers, trailing over his cheeks, his jaw, his adams apple that bobs in a swallow under the touch. Smearing leftover shaving cream, drips of water.

His eyes are too heavy to open, so the fingers explore more… along his chin, the dip between his lips and nose, the dent of his dimples and the rise of his cheekbones.

He feels the fingers slide up to his ears and, slowly, push soft paths into the forest of his hair. Trailing deep and thick back to his neck, and thumbs slide to cup the crevice of his underjaw.

A shiver runs through Sam and his hand on Dean’s thigh tightens a little, hugs Dean closer just with pressure against his solid leg. And Dean comes. Sam feels him rest his forehead down, gently, against his. Feels his breath wash warm over his nose and cheeks. Feels the hands in his hair tremble, the rhythm of his breath stutter in the slightest.

Sam opens his eyes, feels the tickle of a tear drop onto his high cheek from Dean’s eyes clenched shut.

Sam feels his chest tare open hot with desperation and protection, feels his eyes sting in response.

He moves his hands to Dean’s waist and rubs his thumbs slow against his hipbones.

Dean breathes in a stuttered breath and his hands tighten in his hair and Sam welcomes it quietly, closing eyes again… feels the salt tears speckle his cheeks, thinks of his blood speckling Dean’s under that hot sun. And sighs.

[secret-rendezvous1d]

I don't if you notice but harry is a bigger now like his bum is big his arms are so big too and that Pic of his titties out his pecs are so muscular like his days at the gym are making him so damn hot can you imagine the missus notice it too and she is like your arms are big and yo don't have a tummy anymore are you trying to be a muscular man?

HIS BUM HAS BECOME PEACHIER… AND DO YOU KNOW WHAT I THINK? HE’S DEFINITELY MAKING IT PEACHIER BECAUSE HE’S SEEN I USE THE NICKNAME PEACHES FOR MY STORIES. ;)

She’s always loved his suits.

She loves how they feel under her hands when she touches the material. She loves how he always pairs them with boots that she would also pair with his outfit. She loves how they look on him when he’s standing in the middle of his dressing room and she loves how he stands out amongst the crowded room of people. She loves how they look on him when he’s performing on stage and she loves how the light always catches the little detailing on the cuffs and the lapels of his jacket. She loves how his trousers glide off of his legs when he’s getting ready for bed and she loves how his jacket is delicately peeled away from his shoulders when he strips. 

But, most of all, she loves how they accentuate everything on his body. From his shoulders to his arms, to his chest and to his stomach and to his hips, to the delicious curve of his bum to his thighs. 

At the end of the night, after the adrenaline had died down and everyone had disappeared from his dressing room, she liked to watch him.

Not in a creepy way and not in a stalker way - how could it be? She was his wife. But much rather watching him with an appetite growing in the pit of her stomach and a longing look in her eyes. Her hormones going crazy as they run havoc in her veins and had her heart pumping wildly behind her ribs. Because he looked tasty. Deliciously meaty and definitely moreish. 

“Anchored yehself to the sofa again, haven’t yeh?” He teases as his slender legs, bare and exposed to the cold air, take him towards the chair in the far corner of his dressing room. His boxers clinging the peach curves of his bum as he reaches for his jeans and the loose sweater he’d brought to face the cold. “I’m not carrying you out like I did the last time I had a show.”

“You insisted you carried me because a fan trod on my toe,” she snorts, “you dramatic prick.”

He cackles at the use of name-calling whilst he slips his feet into his jeans. Pulling them up his legs and giving himself a wiggle to adjust the waistband at his hips.

“Come and sit with me,” she suggests, patting the empty sofa cushion beside her, smiling sweetly at him whilst he worked on slipping his arms through his t-shirt and his head through the collar, “take things easy. We don’t need to leave yet. Everyone went for caramel magnums in catering.”

He sends her the softest of smiles as his socked feet lead him towards her, falling beside her as he rested his weight on an elbow. Head sitting comfortably against the dip in the middle of the back cushion. 

“You feeling okay?”

She nods and rolls her head towards his. “I feel fine, yeah. I just miss having after show cuddles and chats with you. You’re always whipped off your feet before and during and after each show. It makes me miss you,” she admits, dropping a kiss to her forehead, “have I told you how nice your bum looks?”

“My bum?”

“Yeah,” she snickers, nudging her face into the thick of his neck and sighing softly, “it’s nice. Really nice. You’ve doing squats during your work outs, haven’t you?”

“Been practicing those birthing techniques. If you need me to help when you go in to have our little bub, I’m right there. Breathing, comforting, hugging, squatting,” he feels her giggle against his neck, “taking this proper seriously, okay?”

“I know you are,” she presses a kiss to his skin, “I’m lucky to have you and your pretty bum, mister.” xx

[patheticnugbaby]

Fright

Hey, remember how I said I wouldn’t be writing because I’m working on DnD?

Apparently, I lied, have some SolmeraxThom, also tagged Bladaar, sometimes Thomera if it’s post-revelations.

At the very beginning of Trespasser, based on the scene where your Inquisitor wakes up and he’s not there and she’s sad and scared for a minute.

Solmera wakes in the middle of the night, eyes slowly flickering open in the dark. The softest beams of silver light fall through dark curtains. Indigo, she remembered, like an afterthought. In the night they looked black but they were blue in the sunlight. She bundles the blankets a little closer to her chin, curling to keep her feet under them. As she turned she smelled him, wood, metal, leather, somehow the scent of hay still stuck to him, though it’d been ages since he slept in the Skyhold stables. She smiled sleepily, ignoring the smallest sound of fabric ripping, a small tug on her head that told her she’d gored yet another pillow in her sleep. She reached for him, closing her eyes as her fingers traveled over the too-soft plush covers.

Nothing.

Something sharp and tight closed in her chest, around her throat long before her eyes snapped open again. She sat up, slowly on shaking arms. Her eyes opened as wide as they could go, seeing nothing except the barest suggestion of shapes against the wall. A wardrobe, couches, a small table with two chairs facing the windows.

“Thom?” Her voice was too soft, unsure and shaking.

Still nothing.

She clenched her jaw, throwing the blankets off and swinging her legs out of bed. Her fingers clenched tightly at the edge of the mattress as she shut her eyes, her breath hissing softly between her clenched teeth. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, once, twice before she gave up and stood to take a long, steadying breath. That sharp, hollow something in her chest was still there, like shattered glass just barely held together, one breath and it was gone.

Solmera let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, slowly unclenching her hands before she curled them into fists again, nails cutting into her palms. She waved her Anchor-hand, lighting the numerous candles, braziers, and the hearth, bathing the room in warm, orange light. She spread her hands out towards the fire but she didn’t feel the warmth. She heard the door open and didn’t turn to face it. That’d be too much to hope for.

“... ‘Mera?”

Her breath caught in her throat but she didn’t turn to face him. Relief, hot and painful rushed through her, her summoned fires spluttered before steadying. The slow shuffle of feet, no, socks on on tiles. She flexed her fingers, jaw clenched tightly against the hot prickling on tears in the corners of her eyes.

Gentle, hesitant hands with rough palms slowly circled her waist, callouses catching on the thin fabric of her nightgown. She spun, almost too quickly, and squeezed him tightly in her arms, burying her face in his tangled mess of hair. Blackberries and sage, he’d used her soaps again.

She chuckled, a broken sound as hot tears raced down the sharp lines of her nose.

“I’m not going anywhere, ‘Mera.”

She laughed, or tried to, it came out like a sob. His arms, strong even for someone so much smaller than she was, tightened around her. She crushed him closer, shutting her eyes and nuzzling into his hair.

They stayed like that for awhile, hugging each other so tightly their arms shook. She moved first. She always moved first now, like he wanted to be sure she wanted him to let go before he did. Or maybe he just liked to hold on that little bit longer.

“I’m sorry, ‘Mera, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” A tentative hand brushing the sleep-mussed hair away from her cheek, the soft rasp of calloused hands on much softer skin.

“I shouldn’t frighten so easily-”

“‘Mera,” He stopped her, thumb lightly stroking her cheek, “I have watched you stare down your nose at gods, titans, dragons, god-dragons and you’ve never flinched, not once. I left you. Because I’m a fucking idiot but I’m the luckiest fucking idiot in the world because you took me back, gave me the chance I don’t deserve,” He sighed, like for a moment the words caught in his throat, thick like molasses, “I love you. Now, what can I do so I don’t frighten you again?”

She laughed, really laughed this time, soft and breathy but it sounded like joy, “Wake me when you get up at night, I don’t care how often you have to do it, just wake me up, tell me you’re leaving and you’re coming back.”

“I can do that,” He reached up with his free hand, cupping her face as he pulled her down to rest his forehead against hers, she giggled a little, stifling a yawn, “Back to bed, My Lady?”

“Back to bed, Ser Rainier,” She lightly kissed the tip of his nose, making him grin.

Solmera snapped her fingers, more for show than anything else, snuffing all the lights at once. Thom laughed, his rough hands easily finding hers in the dark. The green of the anchor flashed brilliantly, once she would’ve called the light eerie but by now it was just light, a fact of being who she was.

She led him back to their bed, scooting over under the covers until she laid where he’d been before she woke. The pillow still smelled like him, leather, metal, wood, the softest hint of blackberries and sage, she wasn’t sure if that was him or her. It didn’t matter.

He slid into bed next to her, pressing close to wind his arms around her again, his head comfortably resting on her shoulder. She grinned wide, pressing a kiss to his forehead, earning a chuckle and a playful nuzzle under her chin. His beard tickled her skin. Solmera laughed a little, wrapping one arm around him and tugging him close.

“Goodnight, Thom.”

“Goodnight, ‘Mera.”

[00qad-ldws]

Week 1 Submissions

Below the cut are Week 1 submissions. The prompt was “Space”, the word count was 250 max and the genre was fluff.

Voting and comments will be open until Sunday 6/18 Noon EST. 

Please vote here.

These writers stepped up to the challenge and provided some awesome content for the fandom to enjoy. Please consider commenting on the voting form. It’s an easy anonymous way to show some love and support to our writers!

Results and writers will be announced Sunday after voting is closed and comments will be emailed to the writers as well.

Title: The Final Frontier

Author: @brookebond

Rating: General

Warnings: None

Summary: Q shares his favourite show with the others.

 “You actually enjoy watching this?” Bond asked, shooting Alex an incredulous look.

“It’s not too bad.” Alex shrugged.

“He’s in space and all he ever drinks is Earl Grey, hot.” Bond’s words making it seem as though hot tea was the worst thing in the world.

“And the whole ‘make it so’,” Danny joined in, happy to make fun of Q’s favourite character.

“If I hear one more bad word about Picard, I will erase you all,” Q cut in. It had been his idea to treat everyone to his favourite show. It hadn’t been his idea to start pointing out everything ridiculous thing. “Honestly, James, you know where the door is.”

“Don’t be like that.” Bond pulled Q tighter against him, pressing a kiss to his head.

“This is the last time I share anything with you lot,” Q huffed.

Every weekend they all watched something. Whether it was a movie or show, the four of them spent their Sunday’s together curled up on the couch. It was Q’s favourite day of the week, even if he was being ganged up on.

“I like it,” Alex said, smiling at Q when he looked over.

“Alex can stay. You other two can bugger off,” Q muttered, nuzzling into Bond.

“You can pretend you don’t love us, Q, but we know better,” Danny said, crawling over to join the cuddle.

Q smiled softly as Alex joined them as well, pressing Danny and Q between the two agents.

Sunday’s were the best.

Title: Sailing the Night Skies

Author: @themuller13

Rating: general audiences

Warnings: None

Summary: Gramps is on a space mission.

 Pam was munching down the tender loins of the bird Turing had brought as a treat for their humans, none of whom had wanted to touch it—go figure—when suddenly a bright light illuminated the night sky above them. Turing rose from his perch on the balcony and watched, while Pam unabatedly continued dismembering the bird making small happy noises.

“That’s about your uncle,” Turing meowed quietly. “Listen!”

They heard their humans talking agitatedly and suddenly they came bursting out onto the balcony. Daddy had his computer with him and his twin pointed excitedly at the sky.

“It’s James, Q, look! He must have taken one of the escape capsules before the explosion!”

“There’s one more,” the virgin said, taking the twin’s hand and turning it towards another bright spot.

“Jaws and Dolly,” Daddy grumbled under his breath, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

Pam was listening, a few feathers still clinging to her fluffy white fur. Turing was weaving in between the virgin’s legs, hoping to be lifted up so he could follow the ongoings on the screen rather than watching the sky. He was always fascinated by Daddy’s way to deal with the bad guys, even when it made Pam angry. Her never faltering belief in world domination was an endless point of discussion between them.

“Found him,” Daddy exclaimed and the twin turned to hug and kiss him, before doing the same to the virgin who blushed adoringly.

Pam’s tail flicked in annoyance.

“One day, Turing, one day!”

 Title: Hot Chocolate In June

Author: @sunaddicted

Rating: G

Warnings: mentions of claustrophobia

Summary: sometimes, Alex just needs to get out in the fresh air

 Two bodies joined Alex outside and he didn't need to raise his gaze from the sharp line of the horizon to recognise them: Danny let himself gracelessly fall to the ground, while Q carefully lowered himself on the cushioning grass "James?"

"He's making hot chocolate!" Danny answered enthusiastically.  

"It's the middle of June" Alex pointed out, raising his arm to to welcome Danny against his side when he snuggled closer.

While his claustrophobia had considerably abated, Alex still needed to get away from enclosed spaces sometimes - away from walls and still air, into an open space where the breeze could caress his face.  

Q knew that, judging from the tenderness of his smile hidden behind an impish grin "So what?" Q arched an eyebrow "It's always a good time for hot chocolate"

Alex shook his head fondly and reached over to tangle his fingers with Q's, absurdly grateful for the younger man taking care of him.

"Look at you, all cosy" James chimed in, unloading the tray in Danny's grabby hands before sitting right behind Alex; always mindful of his lover's personal space, James didn't tug him against his chest.  

Alex smiled as he let his body relax against James', laughing when the older man cruelly started tickling him "You'll make me spill the chocolate!" He protested even as he leaned in James' warm embrace, closer to those clever fingers: he had never felt so happy, the space around him holding all of his loved ones.  

 Title: Deafening Silence

Author: @iamanonniemouse

Beta: None, I went rogue

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Summary: Sometimes, when the noise in Alex’s head gets too loud, he has to retreat inside the house until the overstimulation goes away and he can process the outside world again.

--

 Sometimes, when the numbers and patterns and rhythms and noises in Alex’s head get too loud, he has to retreat inside the house, wrapped in his favorite, softest blankets, until the overstimulation goes away, and he can process the outside world again.

The others have learned to recognize his Loud Days, and for that, Alex is grateful.

Bond, James Bond doesn’t know how to stay quiet on the best of days, so he hands Alex a cup of his favorite tea and leaves the house until Q tells him to come back home.

Q sits on the other end of the couch, or at the foot of Alex’s bed, or on the floor by his side and rambles about mathematical series and infinite loops and his newest computer programme. It’s enough to counteract the tangled mess in Alex’s mind, and familiar enough not to overwhelm him, but sometimes even that is too much, so Q simply plops one of his cats onto Alex’s lap and follows Bond, James Bond out the door.

And Danny.

Danny pulls out his favorite book, or queues up his favorite film on his laptop. Danny curls up against Alex’s side, a comforting, quiet warmth. And Danny sits with him, silent but present, as Alex sorts through the information in his own head.

And as the noisiness fades, and the world slips back into its normal calibrations, Danny is there for Alex to lean against, to touch. To anchor him to reality once more.

 Title:  There Were Four In The Bed

Author: @iambid 

Rating: Gen

Warnings:  None

Summary: Some nights there’s just not enough space…

There’s never enough space in their bed, despite James somehow managing to buy them the biggest one Q’s ever seen.

Most nights he is woken by James’s elbow or Alex breathing in his face or Danny wriggling like an eel.  It drives him nuts when he has to extricate himself from the duvet and three sets of clinging limbs to avoid dying of heatstroke.

But on the nights after the days when everything has gone wrong at work he adores it.  He loves the way Danny curls into his chest, his fingers unconsciously drawing circles on Q’s naked skin as he sleeps.  Danny doesn’t really understand what Q does for a living, the stress and sometimes terror of being responsible for the lives of the agents in the field, but he knows enough to realise when Q needs comforting.  Alex knows and he always finds a way to lie behind Danny and somehow embrace both him and Q at once.  And James.  James plasters himself up Q’s back, holding him so tight it feels like he’s pressing all the broken parts of Q back together, allowing him to relax and heal and be whole again.  Q would be lost without them all.  He tells them in the darkness, whispering as he relaxes into their gentle touches.

His whole life is packed into that overcrowded bed and although he never seems to have enough space he wouldn’t swap it for the world.

Title: Making Space

Author: @gwylliondream

Rating: R

Warnings: None

Summary: Alex goes for a run every morning.

 A year ago, Alex had no space in his mind for anything but numbers.

Algorithms.

Statistics.

Strings of code.

The morning drizzle saturated his hair. The thuds of his footsteps pounded the sidewalk that followed the Thames.

Statistics.

Probability….

Alex grunted at the thought and came to a stop outside his front door. A year ago, the probability that Alex could have made space in his mind for anything, other than data, was slim.

With hands on his knees, Alex panted while his heartbeat slowed.

When Danny appeared one chilly London dawn, Alex’s world changed forever.

With his gentle eyes and filthy mouth, Danny tugged Alex's thoughts away from his equations, scattering slivers of data to the wind, making space for love.

Behind the front door, yet another sliver splintered away, leaving more space for brain games and programming wars.

Alex teased Q, holding his glasses above his head, making Q stretch his lean body against Alex. They’d collapse into a giggling mess of laughter that erupted from Alex's chest more often in the past year than it had in the lifetime before.

Chipped shards of data fell from Alex’s mind and made even more space for Bond. With the wisdom of age, the experienced agent gave comfort when Alex needed his brand of strength.

Cool sweat dripped down Alex’s back. He barely remembered what it was like to have numbers as his only companion.

Alex opened the door to their flat and stepped inside. His lovers welcomed him home.

 Title: Summer in the City

Author: @blood-suits-and-tears 

Rating: rated T (because of semi-nakedness and kissing)

Warnings: No warnings

Summary: Just a really hot summer in London

 “It’s soo hot…” Q complained even though he was just wearing pants in bed.

James pretended annoyance “If you let me go shower like I wanted ages ago, you would

have more space and would be cooler…”

“Well, for once he’s right” Alex said, standing at the door, towel around his waist, on his way to get dressed.

“We haven’t seen each other for a while” Q still clung onto James and didn’t even think about letting go.

“We all haven’t, but sadly work is calling too”

There was a small noise coming from the other end of the bed, Danny was stirring and almost squished Q as he turned “Hmpf?...”

“Move? You’re all sticky” Q made a face. “...’is the heat” came the sleepy reply from Danny.

James couldn’t hold back a comment “You’re aware that you’re sticky too, dear Q”

“E-ew…” Q now tried to push the others away but failed. James saw his chance to leave the bed, but was held back. “You can come with, you know” James’ cheeky smile was lost on Q as he wasn’t wearing his glasses, but another hand reached out for him. “You too, Danny”

Suddenly awake Danny pushed Q out, so they could go have a cooling shower.

“You too” James pulled Alex with him. “But-“ Alex was shut up by a kiss, so he gave in and they all moved to the bathroom.

“But just for the record, we need more space. We need a bigger bed.”

 Title: New Horizons

Author: @lille082

Rating: PG

Warnings: None

Summary: Danny honestly just wants to watch a movie.

 Danny had hoped his partners would want to watch the movie too — there was action for James, plenty of outer space for Q and Alex, and some Matt Damon for him. But by the time Q finished explaining solar energetic particles to James and began a discussion with Alex about all of the variables needed to properly calculate oxygen levels to fill a habitat on the surface of Mars, Danny was just about ready to stop the movie and go to bed instead of finishing it.

 Feeling how restless Danny was growing sitting on the floor in front of him, James reaches out, carding strong, calloused fingers through his hair. The tension leaves Danny’s shoulders at the touch and as James starts gently massaging his scalp, he's practically purring.

 Alex laughs at a comment Q makes about one of the NASA technicians on screen and James shushes them. Q and Alex share a guilty look and settle back into the sofa, quiet for the time being.

 James pulls Danny into his lap, startling a bright laugh out of him in the process. Smiles blossom on Q and Alex’s faces at the sound and Danny settles back, getting comfortable. He sighs happily, resting his head on his shoulder, twining their fingers together.

 ‘I’ll watch it some other time,’ Danny thinks as his eyes grow heavy and he drifts off to the sound of two of his lovers trying to name as many of Jupiter’s moons as possible.