#unless unicorn stops waking up we’re dragged

[bestoftheclones]

So it can beat Airachnid for Megatron but not Sneaky?!

Say that again but slower

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Rewind Chapter 11 - Epilogue

“Will I remember any of this?”

Ford paused, hands stilling on his workbench as he considered the question. “…I don’t know.”

Stan swung his legs idly from where he was perched on another table in Ford’s lab, watching the nerd fiddle with his vials. One of them had a glimmering rainbow liquid in it that kinda looked like unicorn blood. “You said when I was an adult we were fighting. Do you think we’re just gonna keep fighting?”

“We’ll always be fighting a little bit.” Ford hedged.

“No, I mean real fighting. Not just arguments and stuff.”

“Then… no, not if I have any say in it.”

:readmore:

“Good.” Stan folded his arms. “Adult me kinda sounds like a jerk, so you gotta tell him I said to be nice. And you’ve been kind of a jerk too, so you also have to be nice.”

“I doubt a grown-up you will follow the instructions of a baby.”

“Hey! I’m not a baby!” Stan found a crumpled piece of paper nearby and lobbed it at Ford’s head. He missed, but it was the thought that counted. Ford let out a huff.

“Don’t throw things when I’m working with chemicals, Stanley. Unless you want me to spill it on myself and also turn into a baby. Then who would cure you?”

“Not a baby!”

Stan didn’t throw anything else, though. Only because there was nothing nearby to throw.

“I honestly don’t know how much you’ll remember.” Ford admitted after a while, twirling a test tube to mix its contents. It looked pretty boring for what was basically a magic potion, just clear and grey. It wasn’t even bubbling. “You might completely forget everything that happened when you were de-aged. In which case, I don’t know how I’ll explain everything.”

“Just start with the story of how I defeated an evil dream demon. It’s the coolest part.”

“It’s the most exciting part of the story,” Ford allowed, “But not the best place to start.”

“It’s the hook! That’s the best part of a story, you know.”

Ford lifted the boring test tube up to inspect it in the light. When Stan looked closer, it didn’t seem as clear – as he watched it was slowly getting cloudier, more silver than grey. He vaguely remembered something about that from science class – did that mean there was a chemical reaction? Or a physical reaction? He could never remember the difference between them.

Ford stared pensively at the vial, and after a few moments Stan cleared his throat. “Is that it?”

“Yes.” Ford started to turn to him and then hesitated again. “You just have to drink this to go back to your real age. I… hm. Are you ready? Do you want to have something to eat first? Or maybe go to bed and have it in the morning?”

Stan blinked. “It’s gonna make me older again, right? Why wait?”

“Well, I don’t know.” When Stan made grabby hands Ford relented and handed over the vial. It was cold to the touch, like it had just come from the fridge. Stan stared at the thick, silvery liquid and wondered what it would taste like. “When you touched water from the spring of youth you passed out for several hours. The same thing could happen now, so we should move you somewhere comfortable before you drink-”

Stan tipped the vial and swallowed its contents in one big gulp. Ford shrieked.

“Stanley! Why would you do that?”

It tasted kinda like dirty, metallic oranges and Stan screwed up his face. “Ew! Couldn’t you at least make it taste nice?”

Ford retorted something, but the sounds were a bit wobbly in his ears. Stan blinked hard to try and make his vision make sense. It was just a little bit off, fuzzy in the corners of his vision.

“…getting dizzy?” Ford’s voice swam through the air, thick and swampy, like Stan was breathing treacle. “…lie down…”

And then, quick as blinking, he was on the floor. That was rude, for the world to just flip over like that. Everything was clouds and Stan was very, very sleepy.

Something else was said, but he was too far away to hear it.

 _______________________________________________________________

When consciousness came – and it did come, as much as Stan wished he could sleep forever, dragging him up from the depths of hazy dreams he couldn’t remember – he knew exactly where he was.

There were soft sheets against his back, the faint whistle of wind through the pines outside, the taste of copper on his tongue. The spare bed felt smaller, now, and when his head shifted his stubbly cheek scratched against the pillow. It smelled faintly like dust.

“Stan? Are you waking up?”

Okay, that was Ford’s voice. But, there was still the possibility that this had all been a weird, vivid dream! That’s right, everything from the last couple days had been a dream. There were no gnomes, no dream demons, and in a moment Stan would open his eyes and be back inside the Stanleymobile.

He cracked his eyes open, blinking at the assault of light, and saw his brother’s face looking back at him.

…shit.

“Stan? Are you alright?” Ford was tapping his cheek, looking for a reaction. Stan grumbled and brushed him away.

“I’m fine. Hands off the merchandise.” His voice was rough with sleep, and Stan was almost surprised by how deep and gravelly it was compared to the childish squeaking he’d been doing lately.

Ford made a face, somewhere between worried and amused – an expression that Stan was familiar with from the last couple days. Dammit. He just had to remember all that. Ugh, and now Ford would want to talk and get all mushy.

“I’m fine.” Stan repeated, with nothing else to say. He got up on his elbows, and a quick glance around the room confirmed they were in the spare room he’d been sleeping in the last couple days. Still, he asked. “Where are we?”

“How much do you remember?” Ford asked urgently, making Stan blink. “Since you arrived here, I mean.”

“Uh… nothing.” He lied, like a liar. Ford’s face fell.

“…oh.”

Yeah, there was no way he could tell the truth here. He would die of embarrassment if he had to admit he remembered acting like a child and being all…sappy. Ford would look at him all weird and they would have to talk and that was just… ugh.

“Yep! I just remember getting here and then – poof! Nothing.” Stan went for a carefree laugh. “Man, did I get hit on the head with a coconut or something?”

Ford lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, looking crestfallen. “No, not quite. Do you – remember the argument we had?”

Nope, nope, feelings alert. Stan did not want to delve into that conversation.

“What argument? Probably about you being a nerd, huh? Jeez, am I hungry, you got any food in this joint?”

“Wha-”

Stan was already throwing the covers off (thank god he was wearing a nightrobe underneath, he didn’t think his pride could survive another hit). Ford spluttered as he got to his feet.

“Will you slow down?”

 ______________________________________________________________

After a couple tests which were obviously unnecessary (but Ford insist on anyway, the nerd) Stan was finally free to pull on some actual clothes and follow Ford to the kitchen. He hadn’t been lying earlier, hunger really was gnawing in his stomach, and he made a beeline for the fridge.

“-and so you were reverted back into a child,” Ford continued. The guy had absolutely no showmanship. Way to lose an audience, Stan muttered to himself as he grabbed the fridge door. He’d told him to start with the demon bit, but noooo. “That was a couple days ago. There have been some – well, it’s been eventful. I doubt you’ll believe me if I told you.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“By the way, my friend is on his way.” Ford added. Stan ducked down to inspect the fridge’s contents – at least it was better stocked than when he first arrived. He hummed in acknowledgement. “You – well, I suppose you won’t remember him. You’ll like him though. You did.”

“Is he a nerd liked you?”

Ford snorted.

Stan grabbed a box of leftover pasta and then went in search of a fork. “Well, let’s hope this Fiddleford guy can tell stories better than you, ya almost put me to sleep with the way you tell it.”

When he turned around, Ford was staring at him.

It took a moment for him to realize his mistake – by the time Stan opened his mouth to spew out some bullshit excuse, Ford was pointing an accusing finger at him.

“I didn’t tell you his name!”

“Yes you did!” Stan spluttered. “I mean, how else would I know his name unless you told me, huh? You ever think about that?”

Ford narrowed his eyes. “Stanley.”

“Stanford.” He parroted right back. The staring match continued for a few moments before Ford threw up his hands.

“Unbelievable! You’re such a liar.”

Stan took a large bite of pasta. Because he was hungry, not because he didn’t want to answer. Ford glared at him.

“I should have known you’d try to wriggle your way out of this. ‘I don’t remember’ my ass. What, were you just going to leave and pretend none of this ever happened?”

Stan shoveled more pasta into his mouth.

“Don’t think you can avoid talking with me. We are having this conversation whether you like it or not.”

‘No, we’re really not’ is what Stan meant to say. Unfortunately, the moment he took a breath to speak he started choking. Ford scowled and thumped him on the back as he coughed, getting bits of pasta all over the kitchen floor.

“Unbelievable.” The nerd said again.

 Well, so much for that.

  _______________________________________________________________

Stan squirmed under his brother’s glare – the whole ‘pacing and towering over him while Stan sat on the couch like a scolded child’ schtick was uncannily similar to what their mother would do when they earned her ire.

“So.” Ford began. “You remember childhood.”

“Yep.” Stan grumbled.

“Your adult life?”

“Mm hm.”

“The last couple days here and everything that occurred while you were reverted?”

“Mm.”

Ford stopped his pacing to turn to him. “Then why on earth did you try to pretend you didn’t? We even made up!”

Stan buried his face in his hands to try and hide its burning. “I don’t know! I knew you’d try and get all…” He shuddered. “Mushy. Feeling-y.”

Stan could just feel the flat look his brother was giving him.

“Okay, fine, look. You forgave me for breaking your project, I forgave you for being a jerk. We’re good. Now, I’m just gonna head home-”

“You’re homeless.”

“You don’t know that!” Stan looked up from behind his hands to see Ford folding his arms. “I could have a, a house, a mansion even!”

“You have a mullet.”

…okay, Ford had him there. Stan scowled. “What’s the plan then, smart guy?”

Ford’s eyes gleamed, and he immediately regretted asking.

“I’m glad you asked, Stanley! I’ve had plenty of time to think over these last couple days. First of all, the Duskertons are looking for someone to help around their store, and no one in Gravity Falls cares much about credentials – I’m pretty sure the man who works at the post office is just a bunch of gnomes in a trench coat ­– so your lack if identification shouldn’t be a problem if you’re looking for a job. There’s also Boyish Dan, his family owns a logging company and I’m sure you could get a place there if you wanted. You’re welcome to stay in my house for as long as you need – I’m sure there are some places in town if you want to rent instead, though. If you choose to stay I might ask for your help in some of my research, since Fiddleford has decided to take a break from studying Gravity Falls, which I don’t blame him for.”

Stan blinked, but Ford wasn’t finished, ticking things off on his fingers as he went.

“I’ll also need to keep you under observation for a while to ensure that there are no side effects from the fountain of youth water, so I’ll ask you to stay around for at least a couple days. If you decide to leave Gravity Falls after that period, you’ll need to give me your phone number so we can keep contact. Oh, scratch that, I’ll make a new one – I’m sure I can work up a design that isn’t as flimsy as the current models going around.”

“Uh-”

Stan was saved from having to answer (answer? There wasn’t much of a question but Ford was looking at him expectantly and he didn’t know what he was supposed to say) by a light knock on the door. Ford perked up and rushed to answer it.

“Am I intruding?” Fiddleford’s hesitant voice rang out. Ford shook his head and stood aside to usher the smaller man inside.

“Not at all, come in. It’s good to see you.”

Fiddleford stopped in his tracks when he laid eyes on Stan on the couch.

Ugh, he was already getting a headache. Now came the judgement. Stan looked like a mess, he knew he did – unshaven, with bags under his bloodshot eyes and ragged hair and old scars crisscrossing his arms. Some small, childish part of him wanted to jump up and hug the guy. Gross. Instead he shoved down the nervousness, stood, and gave him a lazy two-fingered salute.

“…Stanley?” Fiddleford tilted his head, eyes scanning him. Stanley shrugged uncomfortably. It was weird, towering over the small guy like this.

“Hey.”

“Well, you grew up big. The spittin’ image of yer brother.” Fiddleford gave a little smile and stuck out his hand. “Pleasure meetin’ ya, officially this time.”

“Eh, you too.” Stan shook the offered hand. It was small, frail, but gripped his firmly.

“So are you stickin’ around?”

Stan hesitated. He glanced from Fiddleford’s earnest face, to his own rough hand, to Ford’s careful expression – the look of someone trying hard not to look like they were listening.

“…yeah. Yeah, I think I’m gonna stick around.”

[impala-dreamer]

Rules Be Damned

SPN FanFic

~Look, in this line of work, something's always getting thrown at someone. There have to be rules. Rules that have to be followed. Unless, ya know, you need to break them...~

Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader, OFC

6,780 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Sex Pollen. DubCon-ish. Established Relationships. Fuck or Die. All the Smut.

A/N: This was based off an anonymous prompt from my One Day Only request line. Hope you all enjoy!

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Twigs broke under boots, branches gave way to waving arms.

The forest was loud that evening; wildlife screamed as they scrambled away from rushing bodies, birds overhead chirped in warning.

Three hunters with guns on the ready took on the woods like an invading army, stomping down grass, destroying bushes, kicking over habitats, unaware of the ecosystems dying around them. They were on a mission and they would not be stopped. People were dying, children disappearing. It was up to them to bring the terror that had befallen Silver Ridge to an end.

Y/N broke away from Dean and Sam, following her gut deep into the forest. She could have sworn she saw something move in the corner of her eye, and veered right when the guys went left. Now, even if she tried, she couldn’t see them through the trees; flannel and canvas was hidden by late summer greens.

The light was dying, sky turning golden ahead. Sun pulsed through the treeline like a strobe as she ran, trying to catch up with the phantom she’d seen.

Somewhere in the background, Dean yelled her name and she turned, nearly spraining her ankle as she stopped short, body moving towards his voice automatically.

“Dean?” she called back, but there was no answer, only an echo slapping her in the face. “Sam!”

The air shifted behind her and Y/N spun back around, catching a glimpse of the being she’d been chasing. The bastard was screwing with her. She was getting close.

“You wanna play games?” she asked under her breath, drawing up her pistol and taking a step. “We can play.”

She ran again, desperate to catch up with the monster. Every time she felt close, the fiend jumped further away. It was as if they were playing with a different set of rules; Y/N bound by earthly physics, and the target able to magically get around at will.

“Fuckin’ faeries.” Y/N stopped, out of breath and done with the chase. It was pointless anyway. “Coward!” She yelled, trying to incite the creature’s wrath. “Come out and fight me like a man!”

“Now, why would I do that?”

Y/N spun around in a full circle, eyes scanning the forest for the source of the comment. She held her breath as the air stilled around her, warming gently like the heat was finally coming up in an old house.

“Where are you!” she yelled, and finally, a figure appeared.

Awkwardly tall and too thin, with an alien yet beautiful face, the fae presented herself to Y/N. She wore no clothes that could be seen, but long golden hair covered her icy pale skin.

“Why would I want to fight like a man?” she asked, voice like a lullaby. “Men are not nearly as powerful as we women. It would be a disgrace to us both, to the fight itself, were we to act like men.”

Y/N couldn’t tear her eyes from the creature, enraptured by the halo of sunset that outlined her gentle curves; caught in the magic flowing from her pale pink lips, tranced by a voice too melodic and lovely to be real.

Somehow, she managed to blink enough to clear her mind. She raised her arm and took aim; gun trained on the fae’s head. “Why are you stealing the children!” she shouted, hoping her yell would bring the Winchesters to her aid.

The faerie smiled sadly. “We’re not stealing them,” she explained. “We’re giving them a new, better life. They want to be with us.”

Y/N grit her teeth and tried not to be pulling in by her sweet voice again. “You’re murdering their parents!”

“We do what we have to do.”

“So do I.” Y/N’s index finger pulsed on the trigger and she exhaled slowly, ready to shoot.

Before the muscles in her hand could contract, the fae struck in defense, shooting a single bolt of bright white lightning passed Y/N’s shoulder. It struck the tree behind her and Y/N looked up just as the canopy above came to life. Hundreds of pink flowers suddenly bloomed on the tree, aglow with sunset and magical dew. As she looked on, the flowers were illuminated in hot pink and blinding white light and the wind picked up, blowing the petals from their branches, raining down upon Y/N with a force that knocked her to the ground.

Her vision exploded in bright pink and red; the edges cut in snowy white. She felt the ground beneath her back, heard the rustle of leaves and petals, smelled the sweet perfume of exotic flora as she slipped into a warm dream.

A shot rang out, its loud boom echoing through the forest.

“Son of a bitch! Y/N!” Dean’s voice truly called out this time, but Y/N was nowhere to be seen. He’d clipped the fairy bitch, he was sure of it. A trickle of sparkling purple tainted the leaves where he’d last seen it. He ran a finger through the goo and grimaced. “What the hell is this? Blood? Come on. Next we’ll be hunting unicorns.”

Wiping the glittery blood on his jeans, Dean turned with his gun raised, squinting into the trees looking for the wounded fae. “Where’d you go, you stupid bitch!”

In response, Dean heard nothing but a faint moan from the forest floor a few paces away. Green eyes turned to a blanket of pink petals covering the ground, and a hand rose from the flowers.

“Y/N?”

He grabbed her hand and yanked, pulling Y/N up out of the thick mess of millions of pink flowers. She sat up and gasped, eyes wide and empty, lips parted and begging for air.

“Dean?”

He nodded and tucked his gun in his jeans, freeing up a hand to help her stand. “Yeah, Y/N/N. You OK? What the hell happened?”

She was covered head to toe in a faint dusting of gold and Dean wiped a bit from her cheek with his fingertips. She shivered at his touch and sighed. “Mmm. I don’t know,” she said, eyes rolling as if still stuck in a dream. “I...found the fairy and she...poof!” Y/N laughed at herself and looked up at Dean, patting his cheek with a glittery hand. “You shoot her?”

Dean sighed. “No. I clipped her. Bleeds purple, by the way. Like a freakin troll doll or something.”

Y/N giggled and pulled her hand away, leaving gilded fingerprints on his cheekbones. “Dean?” she smiled, licking her lips.

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna pass out now.”

He caught her as she fell, guiding her gently back down to the ground. “Well, crap. Sam!”

The younger, taller Winchester skidding to a halt a yard or so behind Dean. He scanned the perimeter quickly before rushing over to his brother.

“What happened?” Sam knelt and pressed his fingers to Y/N’s pulse.

“She’s not dead!” Dean snapped, shifting her carefully in his arms. “Just passed out. I found her buried under all these flowers.”

Sam pulled his hand back and rubbed his fingers together, looking at the golden dust inquisitively. “What’s all over her?”

“I have no idea- shit.”

As they looked on, the golden mist clinging to Y/N’s skin disappeared, pulled in deep through every pore until nothing remained. When the last bit was gone,Y/N’s eyes fluttered and she moaned happily, waking up with two handsome men looking down at her.

“Hello there,” she teased, voice dripping with honey.

Dean dropped his chin to look her in the eye. “You alright?”

Y/N smiled and dragged her hand slowly down his chest. “Yeah…” Her gaze dropped to the flannel under her fingertips as she rubbed it gently. “Wow, this is so soft.”

The brothers exchanged a silently worried look and Dean cleared his throat.

“Let’s get you back to the motel, huh?”

Y/N bit her lip and rubbed her forehead against his shoulder. “Mkay.”

The walk back to the car was nearly impossible. Y/N had to stop every few minutes to touch something. Trees, grass, flowers, rocks- nothing was safe from her hands and she was safe from none of it. Every new texture entranced her, every touch was electric. She was floating through darkening forest, high and in love with the universe, guided by a firm but careful hand.

When they got to the car, Y/N was nearly whimpering. It wasn’t just the firm pressure of Dean’s hand at the small of her back, or the luscious and oddly sensual textures of the world around her, but every step made her jeans rub against her inner thighs and it was driving her insane. By the time they reached the Impala, her pussy was throbbing.

Dean pulled open her door and nodded to the seat. “Why don’t you lay down? You look stoned.”

Y/N could barely hear him, her entire focus was drawn to the car. She ran her hands slowly across the curve of the roof and down to the trunk, biting her lip as the cool metal made her skin dimple.

“Y/N?” Dean watched her stop by the left taillight and rub herself against the car. She moaned as the hard steel pushed against her hips. “Y/N/N?” Her eyes rolled closed and her lip disappeared between a firm bite as she rocked forward again. “Hey!” He rushed towards her and pulled her from his Baby. “Are you… humping my car?”

Y/N laughed and slapped his shoulder hard. “You’re insane.” Her hand lingered on his arm and her eyes grew huge as the muscles beneath the fabric tensed. “You’re...so strong…”

Her chest heaved and Dean looked at Sam who simply shrugged and got in the car.

“Yeah...thanks. Get in.”

Inside was no better. The leather, the windows, the upholstered roof; Y/N’s touch was immune to none of it and every pass of her fingers made her body quiver. Everything felt so good.

Dean turned the engine and glanced in the rearview. Y/N was in the middle of the seat, head back, hands trailing down her extended neck. She hummed and chewed her lip, let her eyes roll back as the pleasure took over.

He swallowed hard as a wave of heat flooded his senses. “Shit.”

Sam turned to look at him. “You OK?” His turn continued and the sight of Y/N massaging her breasts behind him made his heart skip. “Oh.”

Dean nodded, practically drooling as he watched her reflection. “Yeah.”

“We should get back,” Sam suggested, hazel eyes desperate to stay locked on her lustful expression while his brain told him to look away.

Dean squirmed in his seat, hands suddenly caressing the steering wheel as Y/N dropped a hand down her stomach. “Yeah…”

When the zipper of her jeans fell, both men shook themselves awake.

“You OK to drive?” Sam asked, cheeks red and flushed.

“I’m always OK to drive.” Dean sneered at Sam but swooned as he looked away, feeling so aroused that it was almost painful.

From the backseat, Y/N moaned loudly and Dean accidentally looked back to see her right hand disappear into her blue cotton panties.

“Fuck.”

Sam snuck a peek too and regretted it instantly. He cleared his throat. “Drive.”

The twenty mile ride back to the motel was rather intense. Y/N had somehow stripped enough to slip two fingers into her cunt and the sound of her fucking herself was made Dean so hard his cock could drive if he unzipped.

Sam was deep into the lore on his tablet, but not immune to the wet slide behind him or the pitiful whimper as Y/N tugged on her nipples. She’d hiked her bra up above her tits so she could reach, and twisted hard until each side was sensitive and ruddy.

“God, I...fuck!” She could barely speak when they pulled into the parking lot, riding the edge with her feet spread and heels dug into the leather seat.

Sam hurried to his room, unable to sit in the car any longer listening to her symphony of ecstasy.

Dean refused to look back, knowing he’d never make it out of the car if he did. His hand kept creeping closer to his cock; every touch of his fingers on his thighs making his blood sing.

“Come on, Y/N,” he said, painfully sauntering to the back door. “Let’s get inside.” He pulled open the door and gasped.

Y/N’s fingers were knuckle deep, her wrist slick and shining, her mouth open in a silent cry.

“Fuck.” He pushed down on his erection, hoping to relieve it a bit, but all it did was make his ears ring. “Come on, baby, inside.” He reached for her but Y/N couldn’t stop the rhythmic pumping of her hand.

“Can’t...stop,” she whimpered, turning her lust-darkened eyes to Dean. “Feels too good. Too good...too good…”

Dean swallowed hard and took her free hand, noticing instantly how soft her skin was, how warm. “OK,” he said gently. “Just...um…suck on your fingers while we walk, OK? That will feel good, won’t it? You like doing that.”

Y/N grinned and nodded absently as she pulled her hand from her cunt, giving her clit one more tap before letting go. “Yeah. I like to suck,” she agreed.

Dean whistled. “I know you do, babygirl. OK, come on.”

He helped her stand, trying not to brush his hand across her firm nipples as he lowered her shirt; screaming internally as he tugged her jeans back up.

Y/N sucked on her fingers, rolling her tongue around and between, making the most obscene noises Dean had ever heard outside of a Skinemax pay per view. “‘M so ot, De,” she mumbled around her hand, spit leaking from the corners of her mouth.

Dean managed to get the key in the lock and shove the door open. “What?”

“I’m so hot!” she exclaimed, pulling her fingers away as she stumbled into the room. She tugged at her shirt.

“Yeah,” Dean sighed lustfully, watching her rip the clothes from her sweat-covered body as he shut the door. “You really fucking are.”

Once naked, Y/N sighed loudly, her entire body shivering as the air conditioner spit slightly cool air through the room. “I feel...so… good,” she slurred, fingertips plucking at her bottom lip. She ran a hand down her body and back up, squeezing her breasts as Dean watched on in awe.

His dick was painfully full, aching, crushed against his tight jeans. “Jesus.” He pushed his palm down against it and his jaw shook as a wave of pleasure hit his system.

“So...soft...so...hot.” Y/N turned and looked at Dean with crazed eyes, her mind flooded with lust. “You wanna touch?” she asked, slipping her right hand down between her thighs.

Dean’s tongue tried to escape, but he pulled it back as he cleared his throat. “You’re killing me, Y/N/N.” He looked away, falling down onto the ratty old sofa, hoping to catch his breath.

“Touch me, Dean,” she cooed, dipping her fingers inside her slick pussy. “Need you…” Her brows twitched and she pouted, spreading her knees just a bit so she could slide her hand in deeper. Every movement made her gasp in tiny breaths until her chest was heaving and Dean’s mind was reeling.

“I…fuck.” Unconsciously, he’d been rubbing his cock through his jeans, consumed with how good the simple touch felt. If he felt this good, she must feel even better. “No. No. Just… you’ve been cursed with something. Just ride it out, baby.”

Y/N bit her lip and growled. “Mmm...I could ride you.” She smirked and pinched her nipple hard, pulling it out as far as she could, watching Dean’s reaction.

He let out a heavy breath through puckered lips, almost in pain as she showed off for him. “Just lay down, will you? Shit.”

Still touching herself, Y/N backed up slowly until the bed caught her at the knees. She fell backwards, landing with a puff of blankets, and spread her legs wide. “Curse or not,” she sang, “this is...amazing.” She crooked her wrist and dug her fingers in deep, slowly petting her g spot as everything trembled. “God, I feel like… like… it’s so… mmm.”

Dean’s left hand was traveling upwards, gliding over his own stomach as he watched her thrash on the bed. His mind was clouded but his resolve was true. She was under a spell. There were strict rules about these sorts of things; there had to be. One or more of them were constantly getting hit with strange spells or picking up the wrong object at a crime scene. Something was always happening and without rules, there would be trouble.

“Dean…” She called to him, moaning his name again and again as her cunt clenched.

He bit his tongue and tugged at his nipples, only then realizing that he’d torn his layers away.

“Dean, I need you.” Her hips rocked.

His throat tightened. “Sam’s looking for a cure, I’m sorry, baby.”

Impossibly, she spread her legs even wider and rubbed furiously at her clit. “Please…”

“We…” Dean was panting around his words, fingers closing firmly around his dick. “We have rules, Y/N/N…”

"Screw...your...rules…" Her voice was weak, high and full of frustration. Her arms were growing heavy, tired from their work, but her arousal was only growing stronger. "Not like...we haven't…" Y/N choked on her words as a rush of bliss washed through her. "Fuck!"

Dean sank deep into the dusty couch cushions as he jerked his cock in time with her movements. He tried to stop, to pull himself out of it, but logic could only fight so hard. "I know, but… this isn't...there's…"

Y/N sat up suddenly, her eyes locked on his fat erection, lips wet with drool. "If you say rules again so help me." Her pupils dilated fully, her skin flushed. Y/N watched as his fist slid up and down, up...and...down…

"Dean."

She was on him before he could respond, and he blinked up at her in awe as she ran a pair of boiling fingers down his chest.

He hissed at her touch. "Jesus, why does that feel so good?"

Y/N's eyes sparkled with golden light and she sank to her knees in front of him. "Need your cock, Dean." Her voice was steady, monotone yet certain. He could hear how heavy her breaths were, feel their heat fan across his belly.

"We should wait...fuck."

He melted instantly, letting go of the rules when her lips brushed over his cock. She kissed the tip and looked up with eerily bright eyes, so happy that he was finally giving in.

"Need your cock," she said again, taking a longer taste. "Need to suck."

Dean dropped a hand to the nape of her neck and squeezed gently. "So...suck."

Again, a flash of gold lit her eyes, but Dean didn't notice. He was too lost in the push of her lips as they moved down his shaft, the hot slide of her tongue against his pulsing vein, the slight scrape of her top teeth over his head.

Y/N moaned as she worked; her legs spread, pussy dripping onto the ugly carpet. Every pass of her lips made her cunt hungrier, every satisfied groan from Dean made her suck harder. Her head was empty, thoughts drifting far into the background. Her vision swirled with gold and pink; everything was warm and delicious. Everything came back to sex.

"Need to fuck," she hummed, pulling away from Dean's cock with a loud pop of perfectly locked lips. She pumped him fast with both hands, licking at the tip like a lollipop. "Need to fuck...now."

Dean licked his lips and opened his eyes, looking down at Y/N with fully blown pupils. "Get up here," he growled, tugging at her arms to help her up.

He lost his breath as she sank down into his lap. Her body was so hot, skin so smooth, cunt so slick. Her thighs laid gracefully atop his, her hands curled around the nape of his neck. She kissed him slowly, tongue penetrating his hushed lips.

"Dean…"

His eyes flew open; green rimmed in gold. "Move." His teeth were clenched tight; his fingertips dug into her waist. "Now."

Y/N sucked at his bottom lip and rode him hard, using all of her strength to fuck herself on his thick cock. He clung to her back, holding her close, helping her move, utterly lost in the sensations that flooded his system.

Hot, sweet, wet, firm, soft.

Harder.

Faster.

Tighter.

"Need your cum," she cried; voice deafening against his ear.

Dean locked his arms around her and stood up, managing to turn towards the bed before stumbling forward. They fell together in a heap of sweat and lust; lips reaching, fingers clawing.

He slammed inside of her, pumping in languid strokes until she shifted beneath him, arching her back and lifting her hips just an inch. She spasmed around him, cumming hard, eyes gilded and wide, mouth a perfect circle of cherry red.

Dean's jaw twitched as he came, holding back a wild howl. Every muscle contracted, every nerve ending exploded with feeling. He doubled over, kissing her madly before rolling away, out of breath and exhausted.

The light dimmed from his green eyes and he smiled, drunk on the afterglow. “That was...wow.” He chuckled and scrounged around for the pillow, bunching it up beneath his cheek. “Rules be damned. Ha!”

Y/N was still squirming. Her fingers ran slowly up and down her sides, in between her thighs, over each breast. Her breath was steady but deep; chest rising and falling with dramatic dips that Dean missed entirely as his eyes fell closed.

“You OK?” he mumbled absently before letting out a snore. “I just gotta...take five…”

The heat was rising again and Y/N whined as she tugged on her nipples, forcefully rubbing her thighs together for a hint of friction. “Need cock...need to fuck.” Her words were crisp and pathetic, but Dean was well passed hearing her pleas.

Desperation brought her back to the sofa and Y/N climbed onto the arm, straddling the upholstered corner. Her thighs closed tight and she bent forward; bare tits grazing the old fabric. She moaned as her nipples responded, bit her lip as her clit rubbed hard against the arm.

“Need to fuck!”

Sam knocked but didn’t wait for an answer, walking in with his head down, his eyes glued to his phone. He scrolled upwards with his thumb as he spoke, making sure he was accurately relaying his findings.

“So get this, if I’m looking at this correctly…”

Y/N froze as soon as Sam began to speak, his deep voice churning inside of her and grabbing every ounce of attention. She stilled her rocking against the sofa and stood up, turning towards Sam as he shut the door behind him.

“...this tribe of faerie are mostly tricksters, and I think…”

Y/N licked her lips as her eyes flashed; golden and bright. She crossed the room quickly and was pressed up against Sam before he even looked up.

“...this curse was just a...oh!”

Her hand slipped up beneath his flannel, fingertips rolling over the hard lines of his abdomen. “Sam.” She whispered his name like a song, pushing her nakedness up against him.

Sam gasped, holding his breath as her hand dipped between his waist and his jeans. Her skin was hot, her touch soft and inviting. He suddenly felt… good.

“Y/N, stop." His tone was as weak as his resolve, and logic waned as her fingers brushed the base of his swiftly stiffening cock. "We...you're under a spell. Shit." Her palm pressed into him and Sam sucked his teeth. "Oh, god."

"Need you, Sam," she begged with a pout; firm tits rubbing against his arm. "Need to fuck."

A hand wrapped around the back of his neck. Y/N pushed up on her tiptoes, desperate to drag his lips down to hers. Sam gave in to the moment and looked down into her eyes, ready to let go just once and live in the moment.

Her fingers pulsed around his dick.

He bent down to her lips.

Her eyes glowed with golden light.

"Stop!" Sam pushed her away as gently as he could, forced back into reality by her preternatural gaze. "Y/N, we have to wait it out, OK?" He looked at the bed for the first time since arriving and saw that Dean had not had the same fortitude to hold back. "Shit."

Y/N cocked her head and poured. "Don't you want me?" she asked, presenting her hard nipples for him. She pushed her tits together from beneath, holding them up for his inspection. "Touch me, Sam." Her voice was strange to his ears, empty but rhythmic and for a moment, logic seemed a waste.

Sam stared at her breasts, his jaw slack, jeans tight.

Y/N took a step towards him. "Please, Sam. Need to feel you. All of you."

He lifted his right hand and she held her breath as it hovered over her chest.

"Need to fuck." The gold returned to her eyes. "Need to...cum."

"Shit!" Sam turned away, forcing himself to stay calm. His cock was aching already; laying long and hard against his thigh. His skin was tingling, begging to touch and be touched, but he pushed it all away with a steady breath. "You had been put under a love spell," he said, to her as much to himself. "It was just a distraction so the fae could get away. It will wear off, we just have to…" Y/N pressed herself against his back, hands sneaking around to have their way with him. "...we just have to…" Hot fingers reached up to brush across his nipples and Sam shivered. "...have to stay…" A small but determined hand curved over his erection, rubbing through the denim. "...strong."

Sam's eyes glazed over and his head tipped back as Y/N ran her hands over him. Like magic, she managed to pry the flannel from his shoulders, pull the gray tee up and over his head. She ran her lips across his skin; tongue tracing every line like it was her own. She felt so good, hitting every spot like he had given her a map to his arousal.

"Y/N…" His breath curled into her name.

Her mouth was wet on his hip bones; fingers tugging at his belt.

"Need your cock."

The monstrously mindless tone struck his ears and Sam snapped out of it again, immediately backing away. "No."

She rushed at him, pathetic and needy, yet filled with unnatural strength. "Need to fuck!" She grabbed at him, but Sam was stronger, grabbing both of her wrists to try and subdue her. "Need to fuck!"

"You need to calm down!" he countered, spinning her so that her hands were pinned behind her back.

Y/N let out a cry that nearly broke his heart. She thrashed in his grip, pulling so hard that Sam was afraid her shoulder would dislocate. "Please!"

He let her go and Y/N spun around.

"Sam. Please." Wide eyes went soft as she called to him, and suddenly, Y/N's entire frame began to crumble. Her shoulders slumped, her knees went weak, the ground began to rise.

Sam scooped her up before she fell and held her close. "I'm sorry, Y/N," he whispered gently into her hair. "It'll be over soon."

"Sam?" Her whisper snuck upwards from the cave of his arms, and Y/N slid a hand with it.

"Yeah?"

The hand closed around the firm muscles of his shoulder, massaging with salacious intent.

"Need you, Sam. So bad."

He inhaled deeply; the smell of forest and sweat in her hair making his eyes roll gently. Her head turned, cheek on his chest replaced by lips, and Y/N kissed her way across the broad expanse, enjoying every twitch of tanned flesh.

"Fuck me, Sam," she sang. "Need to fuck."

When she popped the buckle of his belt, Sam growled in annoyance, mad at himself for falling again.

"Damnit!"

It wasn't easy to tie her up, but he made it sound like a game.

Sam sat her down and lovingly drew his hands across her bare arms until he could cuff her wrists to the chair. She hummed in aroused excitement as he knelt before her and carefully tied each ankle, spreading her naked pussy wide, but taking away all ability for her to move. She moaned happily as he stood back up, her mouth watering as his open zipper came back into view.

"Kinky Sam," she teased, lips reaching for him as he made sure the restraints weren't too tight. "Needs to tie a girl up before they fuck. I can get into that."

Sam sighed. "No. We're going to wait this out."

Arousal turned to fear. "What? No." She tugged at her cuffs. "Sam. No. Need to fuck. Please!"

He shook his head sadly and backed away. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Why!” she begged, squirming as much as she could to break free. “Don’t you want me? I want you so bad, Sam. So bad. I need you.”

He turned away; he had to. There were rules.

Dean was still passed out on the bed, somehow sleeping through all of Y/N's yelling, so Sam sat on the sofa, out of her sight. He hoped being quiet and out of view would calm her down, but she only thrashed harder, screamed more desperately.

"It'll be over soon," he assured her again and again, holding his head up with a tired hand. "It'll be OK."

Eventually, she called, flailing lessening to a mild twitch every few seconds. Her entire body would jerk violently and then settle; her head would roll from side to side. When her moans softened to weak murmurs, Sam relaxed, sitting back against the couch.

"You're gonna be fine, Y/N/N. We're all gonna be fine."

Y/N's head dropped, chin resting on her chest, and Sam closed his eyes for a blessed second of peace.

"What's going on?" A groggy Dean sat up in bed and twisted at the waist to see Y/N tied to a chair. "What the hell, Sam!"

Sam looked up and then away quickly as Dean's naked ass met his eyes. "Dude. Pants."

Dean rolled his eyes but grabbed his boxers before rushing over to Y/N. "What did you do to her?"

"Me?" Sam sat forward. "Nothing. She came at me- well, kept coming at me. I- she's under a spell. I had to."

Dean looked her over carefully, green eyes growing wide with concern. "Sam, she's not breathing." Panic rose. "Y/N!" He slapped her cheek and she came back, sucking in a heavy breath. "Fuck."

Her eyes fluttered. "Fuck? Please."

Dean let out a brief sigh of relief then looked to Sam. "What'd you do?"

"I wouldn't touch her and she kept coming at me. I don't know." He rushed to her side and her entire body began to tremble.

"Need...to…" Y/N's eyes rolled to white and she panted, unable to draw in another normal breath. "Please…"

Dean's forehead creased down the middle as worry flooded his mind. "What's happening?" His hands hovered over her body, afraid to land and hurt her.

Sam pressed to finger to her throat and closed his eyes, counting. "Her pulse is weak. I…fuck, she's cold." He pulled away and Y/N screamed at the loss of his touch. Tears ran down her cheeks as she choked for lack of air.

"She's dying, Sam!" Dean dropped to the floor and set to untying her left ankle. "Y/N! Come on, baby, wake up." He placed a hand on her thigh and the trembling stopped.

Y/N's head rolled. "Please."

Sam felt her pulse again and looked at Dean, confused. "It's helping...keep touching her."

"What?" Dean sat back, his hand slipping from her skin.

Y/N whined painfully. Her pulse dropped.

Sam clenched his jaw and reached for her breast, closing his palm over the quickly cooling flesh. Her pulse picked up and her breathing slowed. She moaned happily and Sam shook his head.

"We need to fuck her," he said softly, rubbing her tit gently.

Dean hesitated. "Excuse me?"

Y/N's trembling turned to squirming as Sam rolled her nipple between two large fingers. "It's the curse," he told Dean. "We fuck her or…"

"Please, Sam," she moaned, chewing her lip. "Please."

"Or?"

Sam squeezed her. "Or she dies."

Dean's face ran the gambit of emotions, settling on amused concern. "You know... I just did. Why-"

"Maybe it wasn't enough?"

"It was more than adequate!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "For the curse, Dean."

"Oh." He cleared his throat. "Yeah. Well. Ok, then." He dropped his hand back to her thigh and Y/N hummed gratefully. Her hips lifted a bit and Dean's eyes were drawn to the wet flesh of her exposed cunt; juices flowing, lips swelling. His mouth watered. "Maybe she just needs to cum real bad."

Y/N's stomach tensed. She tugged at her cuffs. "Yes. Cum. Need to cum. Please!"

Gingerly, Dean ran his hand upwards and her skin warmed to the touch.

Sam’s fingers on her pulse registered the change and he nodded at Dean. “Do it.”

“Please, Dean,” Y/N whispered desperately. “Make me cum, please. Need to cum...so bad.”

His fingers slid into the crease of her thigh and Dean ran his thumb across her swollen slit. It was slick and Y/N moaned enthusiastically.

“Yeah. Please. Please!”

Dean pushed his thumb into her cunt and Y/N took in a deep breath, her eyes glowing bright as she looked down at the elder Winchester.

“Fuck me, Dean.”

He rocked forward on his knees and pressed his lips to her clit in a suckling kiss that made her hips shake.

“Yes. Please! Need to fuck. Need to cum!”

Sam felt her come back to life; saw the color flood back through her veins. As Dean rolled his tongue through her wetness, Sam let her go and slowly took a step back.

Y/N let out a painful whine. “Sam, no.” She struggled to reach for him, wrists tight against the cuffs. She turned her head towards him, lips puckering, eyes locked on his jeans. “Please!”

His cock swelled but he hesitated; the golden hue in her eyes the only thing reminding him that they were operating under magical circumstances. If it weren’t for her failing vitals, the entire scene might have been out of one of Y/N’s midnight, whiskey-fueled confessions, but it was all wrong.

A single tear escaped and trailed down Y/N’s cheek. Golden or no, her pretty eyes begged for him. “Don’t let me die, Sam…” Her strength ebbed and her head rolled; the tight in her shoulders and arms was fading, she was fading.

Sam took a breath. “I won’t, babygirl.”

The moment his cock passed between her lips, Y/N came back to life. She licked him until hard then sucked down everything he had to give her. Sam couldn’t deny the extreme sensation; there was something warmer, something softer, something more amazing about her tonight than ever before, and it wasn’t long before he was fucking into her mouth without regret.

Dean crooked his fingers deep inside her pussy and Y/N came, clenching around his knuckles. She stilled for a moment, but the whimpering returned; she needed it from both ends, needed to be so filled she couldn’t breathe.

With his right hand still massaging her cunt, Dean untied her ankles, distracting her with kisses and tiny bites on her inner thighs as Sam pulled away to open her cuffs.

They were careful to keep their hands on her at all times, at least one man doing something to her as they moved to the bed. If they were gone at the same time, she crumbled, blood pressure dropping, heart rate falling. They needed to keep her going just a little while longer.

“Need your cum,” she moaned, weak limbs thrashing on the bed as Sam helped her to her knees. “Need it so bad.” Her eyes rolled back painfully and Sam grit his teeth, gently shaking her back awake.

“Hey! Hey, hang on,” he told her, kissing her eyes back open. “Stay with us.”

Behind her, Dean gave his brother a grave look. “How much longer?”

Sam shrugged and lay back, pulling Y/N with him, safe in his arms. “I don’t know, just...just do it.”

Y/N sagged against Sam's chest, barely breathing. "Please. Need to fuck. Need your cum."

Brushing her cheek, Sam guided her eyes up to his. "Just hang on, you hear me?"

She nodded as best she could, and Sam shoved his tongue between her lips, revving her back up as if his kiss were electro shock. She breathed deeply and sat up on her own, clawing at his chest and moaning into his mouth.

Dean snuck up from behind and ran his hand firmly down her spine. "Come here, baby. I want that sweet pussy. Now." He slapped her ass gently and Y/N responded, walking backwards on her knees until Dean could take what he wanted. He plunged two fingers into her cunt and pumped slowly, covering his hand in her hot slick.

Sam's cock stood tall before her gilded eyes and Y/N took a taste, flicking at him with the tip of her tongue. With a smirk, Sam scooted down a bit and let her have it all, laying back as she closed her lips around him.

Dean fucked her steadily, his hands locked on her hips, thighs slamming firmly into her ass. Every thrust pushed her down onto Sam and every buck of Sam's hips in retaliation sent her deeper into Dean's thick cock.

She was in heaven, she was lost in the feeling; so full, so happy, so utterly and undeniably distracted. She screamed around Sam's cock as she came again, flooding Dean's cock and the stiff sheets below. Her cunt pushed and pulled at him until he couldn't hold back, and his head flew back as he came, adding to the mess at his knees.

Sam felt them both go and watched carefully as the gold dimmed in Y/N's eyes. He pushed a hand through her hair and held her in place, taking over as he reached his end. He jerked his hips hard, fucking into her tiny, hot mouth. Y/N moaned when he came, barely able to swallow him all down. It dribbled with her spit from the corners of her mouth, sliding less than gracefully down her naked body, pooling on the bed below.

She looked up as Sam pulled back and gasped, the golden light vanishing totally from her eyes.

"Fuck!" She held her breath as the room grew dark around her and collapsed into a heap between the brothers.

"Y/N!" Dean grabbed at her, carefully spinning her onto her back. "Y/N!"

Sam grabbed her wrist and sighed in relief. "She's fine. Pulse is steady." He turned away to grab his shorts and shook his head. "Ya know, we have rules for a reason, Dean."

Green eyes looked up from the bed. "I know the rules. She was dying!"

"She wasn't until you touched her."

"Excuse me?" Dean shot up from the bed, ready to fight. "I didn't do this. I was dosed too, if you don't remember."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "So was I."

"So maybe it was your fault for touching her!"

"You flat out fucked her ten minutes after getting back here."

Y/N sat up on her elbows and groaned at the boys. "You both fucked up!" she interjected, pulling the feuding hunters apart. "Now you're both gonna get over here and give me some goddamned aftercare!"

Dean laughed and Sam blushed.

"Yes, ma'am," Dean sang, hopping to get back into bed.

Y/N stopped him with a reprimanding hand. "Oh, no. You," she said pointing at Sam, "get me a wet towel. And you-" her eyes flew back to Dean, "are gonna go get me some food."

Dean pouted. "But...cuddles?"

Y/N laughed. "After pizza."

2020 Forever Tags:

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[wizardessheart-sideb]

[Image ID: A chapter image done in the style of Wizardess Heart. A large, off-white imagine with a guy on it. He’s wearing a dark gray uniform. There’s a lavender bar over him that reads “Tsukasa Kuze.” The rest of the text reads “Main Story” and “Chapter 9: The Truth” /End ID]

Chapter summary: Tsukasa’s home sick again and finally tells me the truth about what’s going on.

I’m staying home today. I’m sorry I can’t walk you to class. Love, Tsukasa.

That was the Magic Note Tsukasa had sent me this morning as I ate breakfast. My stomach had dropped to the floor when I read it. I was really hoping he’d feel better, but apparently not. Did Azusa not come over and give Tsukasa medicine? Was Tsukasa just really sick? Again, once classes were over and I’d run an errand, I knocked on Tsukasa’s door with my free hand; the other had a small to-go bowl of soup.

“Come in,” he called weakly. I quickly went in, placing the soup on his nightstand.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” I asked.

“Bad. But I took some painkillers, so hopefully my body stops hurting soon.”

“Is it everywhere?”

“Basically,” he pouted. I sighed and handed him the soup. His face lit.

“You didn’t have to get me dinner. Thank you.” He didn’t wait to dig it, carefully taking off the lid and grabbing the spoon. He said something I didn’t quite understand before shoveling the soup into his mouth.

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s the least I can do.” I got on the other side of the bed, laying back on the pillows. “I don’t want to push you, but have you had your medication recently?” Tsukasa nodded, putting his spoon down and swallowing.

“Actually, Azusa came over this morning and gave me a dose,” he told me. Relief flooded my body.

“So you’ll be feeling better soon?!” He bit his lip and stared at the blankets. The relief I’d just felt evaporated in seconds. “Tsukasa?”

“I… I honestly don’t know.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“But doesn’t this medication help keep you from getting sick in the first place?!”

“It does. But… I really didn’t want to tell you this.” My heart stopped.

“Tell me what?” I demanded, trying to sound calm when I felt anything but.

“My medication does keep me from getting sick, but it’s real purpose is to keep my body healthy. But we’ve been running low on it and… It’s watered down,” Tsukasa admitted.

“It’s what?!”

“Azusa’s mixed it with fillers so I don’t run out, but now it’s so weak that honestly, I don’t think it’s really doing anything anymore.” My blood ran cold.

“Tsukasa, why wouldn’t you tell me this?!” I demanded angrily.

“I already told you that I don’t want you to worry about me. You’re so stressed about classes and your Judgment and my health problems were just piling stress on,” he defended himself heatedly.

“But this is serious! I’m thankful you’re trying to make me less stressed, but this is your health! I need to be in the know about this sort of thing! I can’t help you if I don’t know everything.”

“I know, but if there’s a way to keep you from being totally stressed, isn’t that something I should do?” he countered, eyes narrowing.

“I mean, in most cases yeah, but this is different. This isn’t getting us dinner while I’m working late.”

“I…” He sighed, clearly frustrated. I certainly felt the same.

“How about we just. Cool down for a couple moments and then come back to talk about this?” I suggested. There was no way we were going to get anywhere when we were both angry.

“Let’s do that.” Finally, something we could agree on.

The tension in the air as we slowly calmed down lessened and lessened. By the time I was ready to talk things out, I wasn’t mad anymore. I knew he just wanted to help me out, but I wish talking to him wasn’t like talking to a wall. I looked over to tell him I was ready when I saw him slumped against his pillows, fast asleep.

“Oh no, Tsukasa…” I sighed. I was caught between waking him up and letting him sleep. After all, he’d been so sick. And besides, I had to go meet Azusa soon. You know what, I’ll just come back. I wrote him a quick note explaining I was going to be studying in the library and to send me a Magic Note when he woke up and placed it on his nightstand.

Azusa had asked me to meet him in the forest, at a large rock in the middle of the forest. He’d drawn me a map and with the moon lighting the way, I made my way through the forest. By the time I reached it, he was already there, arms folded and looking around his surroundings.

“Sorry I’m late, I ran to Tsukasa’s room to bring him dinner,” I told him. He didn’t look happy, but he nodded.

“It’s fine. Let’s head out.” He didn’t waste a moment, walking away. I hurried after him, falling into step with him.

“Head out? What we need isn’t here?”

“No, it’s just a little ways away. We’re going to the Spring of Unicorns,” he informed me.

“The Spring of Unicorns? What’s that?”

“According to a friend, unicorns live in his area and there’s a special spring they like.” I knew unicorns lived in Gedonelune, but I had no idea they lived on campus. You’d think more people would talk about that.

“So, uh, what are we getting at the spring? A special flower? Special water? What?” I asked.

“We’re going to get a part of a unicorn horn,” Azusa said.

“We… wait,  what?!” I stopped in my tracks. Azusa stopped too and gave me a tired look.

“Come on, we don’t have all night,” he snapped at me. He grabbed my arm and dragged me along. Once I got my footing and kept walking, he let go. But it was as if I could still feel his hand around my arm. My head was moving fast, trying to figure out why we’d need something from a unicorn. And then it hit me.

“A unicorn horn?! But… wait… is that what’s in Tsukasa’s medicine?!” I squeaked.

“Yeah.”

“Hold on, but unicorns don’t live in Hinomoto.”

“Really? I, a Hinomotan, didn’t know that,” he said ssnidely.

“Stop being sarcastic, you know what I meant!” He rolled his eyes.

“When Tsukasa was sick, I used to go around to some shady merchants and see their wares. I was desperate for something to save him. One merchant managed to smuggle a unicorn in. Somehow, it died on the way over and I took it off his hands. It cost too damn much, but it worked, didn’t it? Tsukasa was healthy for years until…” His voice trailed off.

“Until what?” I prodded.

“I didn’t think getting access to a unicorn would be so hard. I knew they lived in the forests here, but I didn’t realize they only live on the peninsula the Academy’s on. I haven’t been able to get to a unicorn until this year.”

“So why do you need me to help? Do you need me to talk to the unicorn?” I asked.

“Sort of. They like the pure of heart and having you with me when we negotiate would look good. Besides, I’d rather make the medication in the Night Class lab. No one will bother me there.”

“I see. Is there anything else we need for his medicine?”

“I made the first batch with unicorn blood since it also has magical properties, but this time around since I don’t have a dead body, I’m going to skip it. It was just for extra strength, anyway.” I shuddered at the idea of Azusa butchering a unicorn, even if it was already dead.

“Does Tsukasa know what’s in his medicine?”

“No. He loves animals so much it’d be a bit of a slap in the face.” He gave me a look so sharp that it could’ve killed me. “You won’t tell him what’s in his medication.” It wasn’t a suggestion; it was a demand.

“My lips are sealed,” I said hurriedly. He gave me a smile and my skin crawled.

“Good.”

The trees gave way to a clearing with a sparkling pond in the middle. And lo and behold, a majestic unicorn had it’s head bent down, drinking from the spring. I’d seen horses before, but this creature seemed so much bigger than a horse. The air of grandeur around it made me stop in awe. There has a hand on my back and Azusa was forcing me forward. His message was clear.

“Um, excuse me?” I called out timidly and the unicorn looked up, looking at both of us.

“Humans? What are you doing here? Isn’t this a little deep in the forest for your type?” he inquired.

“Uh, we were looking for a unicorn to talk to.” What was I even saying?

“Then I guess you’ve completed your task.” He leaned down, continuing to drink.

“We wanted to ask a favor,” Azusa spoke up. The unicorn lifted its head again.

“A favor? That’s a bit arrogant to ask of a creature you just met,” he said. I mean, he wasn’t wrong, but he was being so rude to us.

“I know,” Azusa replied. “I wouldn’t ask this if the situation wasn’t dire. My brother’s body is slowly shutting down and the only medicine that can save him needs a very small amount of a unicorn horn.”

“Oh, so that’s it? You want my horn?” The unicorn’s eyes started to change to a deep red and I quickly shook my head.

“We don’t want the whole thing,” Azusa said quickly. “We know what that means. We just need a small chunk.”

“And what will I get in return?” the unicorn asked pointedly. We paused.

“… The satisfaction of knowing you’ve helped someone?” I said.

“Wrong.” How is that wrong?! “How do I know you just aren’t going to sell it off?”

“That’s fair,” I conceded. “But please. We need to help his brother. He’s really sick and needs this medicine.”

“Come back in five years. If you’re patient, I’ll let you have a piece,” the unicorn said. Azusa twitched.

“Five years?! We don’t have that kind of time!” Something about Azusa changed. He tensed beside me and it was as if I could feel negativity radiating from him.

“If you aren’t patient, then you aren’t getting a piece of my horn, which I was generous enough to offer,” the unicorn sniffed. Yeah, it’d be generous if you weren’t being such a jerk about it.

“My brother will be dead in five years if we don’t get this horn!” Azusa cried. Dead?! My stomach fell straight to the floor and a wave of dizziness hit me. No… He was being melodramatic, right? Tsukasa always said he was overdramatic. That was the case, right? Tsukasa couldn’t be dying. He couldn’t be. He was just sick right now and he was going to get all better soon.

“I will not give you anything unless you wait. I need to know you’re trustworthy.” The unicorn acted like he didn’t even care, like our words weren’t even reaching him. Did he not understand death? Considering unicorns were endangered, surely he had to understand?

“We… You…” Azusa’s fists were clenched and there was something disturbing in his eyes. The air grew still and in a moment, my body was moving.

“We’ll come back tomorrow to talk this out more, Mr. Unicorn,” I piped up hurriedly. My arms were around Azusa’s waist and not a moment too soon. A second before I grabbed him, he started to lurch forward.

“Let go of me!” he screamed at me. He was seething as I dragged him away. It was like trying to drag a rock around, but somehow, we got out of the spring. “Let GO!” He pushed me and I stumbled backwards. He was breathing heavily, glaring into the darkness. “That selfish piece of -” A long string of expletives left his mouth as he stormed forward back towards campus. I scrambled to follow after him.

“What are we going to do now?” I was at a loss. Maybe we could find another unicorn if this one was going to be a jerk? Maybe there was something else we could do?

“We’re going back tomorrow and we’re killing it,” Azusa announced coldly. My blood froze.

“Kill… Kill it?! Azusa, that’s illegal!”

“Yeah, no shit. What else are we supposed to do?! If we don’t get that horn, Tsukasa will die!” he yelled at me.

“But… !” I couldn’t think of what to say. Of how to fight back. Sure, I wouldn’t mind slapping the unicorn for being so rude, but killing it?! There had to be another way! Killing a unicorn was a serious crime. If we got caught… I shuddered at the thought. But at the same time, what if Azusa was right? What if this was the only way to save Tsukasa? I wasn’t going to let him die, but if this was truly the sole way of keeping him alive… I just didn’t know.

The walk back to the dorm was silent. If I wanted to break the tension between Azusa and I, I’d have to cut it with a knife. I stole glances at him every so often. He looked quietly furious, fuming at how things turned out. I didn’t blame him. I understood where the unicorn was coming from, but it was harsh. Maybe if we came back tomorrow, he’d change his mind?

“Meet me tomorrow at the same place, same time as tonight,” Azusa ordered me. “We’re getting that horn if it’s the last thing we do.”

“There really isn’t another way?” He made a noise of disgust, rolling his eyes. What Dorian and Aika saw in him, I didn’t know.

“There’s not! How many times do I have to tell you that?!” he fired back. I flinched and he just rolled his eyes yet again. “If you don’t want to help, fine. I’ll just do it on my own since you clearly don’t care enough about my brother.”

“Excuse me?! You have absolutely no right to say that!” I argued. “Sorry that I actually have a conscious about killing animals.”

“Oh please, like it’s a big deal. It’s the circle of life. How is killing an animal for medicine different from killing an animal for food?”

“Uh, are y’all okay?” I looked over to see Isabelle coming out of the dorm building, eyebrows furrowed. Azusa straightened up, giving her a smile and a laugh.

“Oh, we’re fine. We were just talking about food ethics,” he lied. Isabelle just gave him a skeptical look.

“Uh, okay? Sweetie, we’ve been looking all over for you. Dorian’s almost done with dinner.” She put her arm around me and pulled me away. “Later, Azusa.” She didn’t even wait for him to respond, taking me inside and up to our dorm. “Was he bothering you?” she demanded as soon as Azusa was out of earshot.

“N-No, not really,” I lied.

“I have no qualms about beating someone up -”

“What? No, Isabelle. I don’t need you to beat him up. We just had a disagreement,” I added.

“Okay. But if you change your mind…” She winked. Note to self: don’t make Isabelle mad. “But seriously, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“I got into a fight with Tsukasa and… Oh no!” I need to go talk things out with him! “Crap, Isabelle, I’m sorry, but I gotta go talk to Tsukasa!” I started running back towards the dorm.

“Uh, okay?! Dinner’s in like, twenty minutes!” she shouted after me.

“Okay!”

I ran through the dorm, hurrying back to Tsukasa’s room. Was he awake now? Was I gonna have to wake him up? How did I even really feel about this? His door was open and I knocked before poking my head in.

“Tsukasa?” I called out tentatively. He was still in bed, a textbook open. He looked over to me. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry I fell asleep,” he said as he shut his book and moved his study supplies onto his nightstand.

“I’m sorry I left while you were sleeping. And... Look, I get it. I know you were trying to do what you thought was best for me,” I said.

“I know. And I’m sorry, too. I was frustrated and not feeling well and I took it out on you. I think we both were just doing what we thought was best for each other.”

“Yeah…”

“We still need to work on our honesty with each other, but I promise I’ll keep working on it. And I promise that that’s everything going on.”

Was that true? He sounded so sincere. Maybe he didn’t know he was… No, Azusa, was totally just being melodramatic. But what if he wasn’t?

“I love you, Tsukasa. You know that, right?” I asked. He chuckled and grabbed my hand. His hand was so warm in mine.

“I love you, too,” he said, and the butterflies in my stomach were in a frenzy. … I had to find a way to save him. No matter what.

---

A delicious, savory smell wafted from our kitchen and my stomach started rumbling. Isabelle, Aika and Dorian were already at the table, eating.

“Jeez, where have you been? You’re never late to dinner,” Dorian said, irritated.

“I-I, uh…” Should I tell them about what happened?

Meeting Azusa, the unicorn, everything came rushing back to me. Azusa’s claim Tsukasa would die without this medicine. Tsukasa and I making up. My throat felt tight and it ached. My vision got blurry before the tears started. I felt Isabelle’s arms around me and I could hear Dorian trying to backtrack, telling me he wasn’t angry at me, he was only surprised and bit worried.

Isabelle sat me down, keeping her arms around me and letting me cry into her shoulder. Everything spilled out of me: my trip with Azusa, Tsukasa’s health, the unicorn refusing to help us. My sobs quieted the more I spoke, and by the time I was done, I was just sniffling. Dorian handed me some napkins.

“I had no idea Tsukasa’s condition was so bad…” Aika said.

“I knew there was something up with him, but I didn’t think it was this. Jeez, killing a unicorn...” Dorian sighed.

“I mean, I get it. If killing a unicorn was the only way to save my sister Felicity, I’d do it,” Isabelle said.

“Yeah, I get it too. But it’s not like it’s his only option,” he said. I perked up.

“There’s another way?!” I asked.

“Of course there is,” he answered. Isabelle’s eyes narrowed.

“If you’re thinking what I’m thinking, that’s a pretty big price to pay, Dorian,” she told him cautiously. “Not everyone is willing to make contracts.”

“Contracts?” I asked.

“Anything’s possible if you make a contract with a magical creature or a demon,” Dorian said.

“A demon?! I-Is that really necessary?” I couldn’t help but balk at the suggestion. But then again, if it was a way to save Tsukasa without killing anything...

“I wouldn’t say it’s necessary, but it’s easier to summon demons than magical creatures,” Dorian informed us. “Demons actively look for people who want contracts. Magic creatures generally don’t.”

“What, so you’re just going to go tell Azusa to make a deal with a demon instead of killing a unicorn?” Aika challenged him.

“It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?” he shrugged.

“Summoning a demon is so serious, though,” she pointed out.

“Uh, Tsukasa’s dying. I think this is a pretty good reason to summon a demon,” Isabelle said, folding her arms in front of her chest. “And also, it’s pretty rich that you -”

“I’m just saying Azusa is stubborn and even if Dorian suggests it, it’s not like he’ll do it,” Aika cut her off. “He likes us, but he’s also super stubborn.”

“But it’s worth a chance! And if Azusa won’t do it, then I will!” I declared. Aika and Isabelle gawked at me. The edges of Dorian’s lips twitched before he burst out laughing.

“Oh, you’re going to summon a demon? Well, if you need help, just give me a holler. Demonology is sort of my thing,” he told me.

“Don’t patronize me,” I snapped. “I want to help Tsukasa and if this is the only way I can do it, then I will! I don’t want Azusa to kill that unicorn. If I have to make a contract then I’ll do it!”

“We’re not trying to patronize you,” Aika frowned. “It’s just that making contracts with demons is a really serious thing. Sure, it’s so easy even non-wizards can do it, but it still carries a hefty price.”

“I don’t care. I’ll do it if I have to,” I told her.

Why did everyone look down on me?! I knew how big of a deal it was. But if I could save Tsukasa and the unicorn, of course I’d do it. I’d finally be able to do something for him. After so many days of being helpless and not able to do anything for him, I could finally do something to help.

[georgialouisea]

Secrets out

Pairing - Sam x Reader, Dean. Word count - 1055 Warnings - Pregnancy, fluff, a little angst. Written for - @spngenrebingo  @spnaubingo & @spnfluffbingo2019 Squares filled - Late Night Call - Pining - Pregnancy SPN Genre Bingo Masterlist - Spn AU Bingo Masterlist - Spn Fluff Bingo Masterlist

Pressing dial you knew he wouldn’t answer it was nearly 3am, you should be asleep, you really wanted to be asleep you just couldn’t sleep, the bunker was empty and cold all you needed was to hear his voice.

“Y/N? Sweetheart everything okay?” Dean’s voice filled the room as the call connected. “Y/N?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, where’s Sam? Is he okay?”

“He’s asleep, want me to wake him?”

“No, no, it’s okay let him sleep.”

“Sweetheart, what’s going on?”

You could hear him moving around the motel room. “Nothing, I’m fine.” You lied as you wiped the tears from your cheeks.

“Sam.” Dean hissed away from the phone, Sam grunted before one brother hit the other.

“What the fuck was that for?” Sam groaned.

“Shut up, your girlfriends is calling, she’s upset about something and won’t tell me what.”

You could hear Sam moving in his bed. “Baby what’s wrong?”

“Sammy, I’m fine.”

“Talk to me.”

“I miss you, I really fucking miss you, hell I miss Dean, he could be in here pissing me off as much as he wants and I’d welcome it right now, the bunker is so empty without you two I just want you home, I want you in bed next to me, I miss you, Sam,.”

“I miss you too, we’ll be home soon okay?”

“Okay.” You choked back a sob.

“You haven’t been sleeping have you?”

Shaking your head you somehow expected him to see you. “No.”

“Do you think it’s-”

“Yes.” You cut him off, not yet wanting to tell Dean. “Yes and I miss you so damn much, will you let me come on the next hunt? I just hate not being with you every night.”

“I miss you too sweetheart, facetime me.”

“Why?”

He chuckled. “Because I want to see your beautiful face.”

“I’ve been crying.”

“So? You’re still beautiful.”

Rolling your eyes at him you turned the lamp on the nightstand on as you pressed the button on your phone transferring it to facetime, it took a few seconds to connect as you stared at a pitch black screen. “Sam?” A lamp flickered on and Sam’s face filled your screen.

“You dick.” Dean’s grumble was quickly muffled by his pillow.

“You okay?” Sam asked with a furrowed brow.

Nodding at him you smiled. “I’m fine, I just miss you and I really want you home, I’m being stupid.”

“You’re not being stupid, we’re all done up here, we’ll be home tomorrow night okay?”

“Okay.”

“Try to get some sleep beautiful, if you need me call.”

“I will, love you Sammy.” Wiping at your cheeks Sam gave you a sad smile.

“I love you too baby, see ya tomorrow.”

Hanging up he stared at his screen, getting out of bed he shoved his brother’s shoulder.

“What?” Dean grunted.

“Get up we’re going home, you can sleep in the car.”

“Seriously?”

“Deadly, be in the car in twenty minutes or I’ll leave your ass here.”

--

Strong arms held you against the warmth of a solid chest, opening your eyes you stared at Sam’s v neck clad chest. Looking up he was still fast asleep, wrapping an arm around his waist he shifted at the contact, opening his eyes he smiled down at you. “Morning baby.”

“Morning, what the hell are you doing here? Did you drive all morning to come home?”

“Of course I did.”

Hugging him you couldn’t stop the tears from falling. “You’re home.”

“I’m home, what’s wrong?” His palm cupped your cheek.

“Nothing, I’m happy you’re home, God I can’t stop crying at everything, I cried at a yoghurt commercial yesterday.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, I’m pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic, it’s your hormones don’t worry about what you cry at, do you want to get something to eat? Or do you want me to bring you something back in here?”

“No, I’m good, let’s go get some breakfast.”

“I’m making coffee, you two want some?” Dean asked as you walked into the kitchen

“Yeah, please,” Sam answered for you both as you sat down at the table.

“Now what’re you crying at?” Dean looked down at you as he put the mug in front of you.

“Back off.” Sam snapped.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s pregnant she’s gonna cry a lot more, I was asking more if I need to break your face for makin’ her cry.”

“You know?” You looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah, Sammy forgets to clear his browser history, I could swear he has the baby brain not you.”

“How long have you known?” Sam asked sitting down next to you and wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Few weeks, why’d you think I didn’t punch you at three this morning when you dragged me out of bed to drive for seven hours straight?”

“You’ve known all this time and you haven’t said a thing?”

“Figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

“And what happened to that?”

“I’m tired, it slipped out, I won’t tell anyone else I swear, I am happy for you both.”

“Thanks.” Sam smiled at his brother.

“For the record, if he does upset you, you come to me and I’ll knock him on his ass, okay sweetheart?”

“Thanks Dean.”

“You’re welcome, I’m gonna do some work on baby so-”

“See ya later.” Smiling at him he left you and Sam alone.

“So secrets out.”

“Secrets out.” You nodded.

“Just Jack and Cas to tell then.” Sam shrugged reaching the cup.

“Erm, they already know.”

“You told them without me?”

“No, they kind of sensed it, I guess, although I wish you were there to see Castiel try to tell me I’m pregnant when I already knew.”

“Funny?”

“Very.”

“I’m going to start pulling back on hunts, spend more time here with you.”

“Sam you don’t have to do that because of my wobble last night.”

“I know, but eventually I’ll have to so why not start now, I won’t go on the next one unless Dean really needs me, if not he can take Cas and Jack with him.”

“You’re sure? I don’t want to make you -”

“You’re not making me do anything, we’ve been spending more and more time apart and I miss you too, so I’m all yours.” His hand rested on your knee. “So what are we doing today?”

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[mlpshippingcentral]

Puppy Love

In which Scootaloo is an oblivious gay while Sweetie is a pining gay, too angsty for her own good.

Also known as; my excuse to write about Sweetie’s shitty parents, plus my headcanons involving lanky Scootaloo and smol Sweetie and my headcanon that Sweetie Belle and Rarity were born in Canada.

You’re welcome

After they get their Cutie Marks, the Crusaders start having sleepovers a lot more.

Most of the times it's at Sweet Apple Acres, so Apple Bloom won't be late to do her chores, though a couple have happened at Rarity's house or Scootaloo's Aunt's.

This time, though, is different, because not only is this is the first time they have been allowed to have a sleepover without adult supervision, but it's also the first time they've had it in their tree house.

The days building up to the weekend are full of excited chatterings about what they can do, such as staying up past midnight, a simple goal, though one they've never actually accomplished, and using their telescope to stargaze and hundreds of other ideas.

They all bring their sleeping bags into the tree house, and set them up.

And it's here where Scootaloo hesitates. Because up until tonight, in every sleepover, they've been sharing a bed together. It's not a big deal, just that nobody actually has a guest room.

And now they can sleep as near or as far from each other as possible.

Which, of course, isn't that big of a deal, she reminds herself, eyeing her best friends as they undo their bags, and, after a couple of second of deliberation, puts hers right next to Sweetie, who eyes her curiously for a moment.

"In case we want to talk to each other" she shrugs, feeling oddly embarrassed about it, but Sweetie just lights up and smiles.

"Good idea, Scoots!"

The Pegasus hides a smile by fiddling with her sleeping bag, and sees Apple Bloom staring at them, with the most exasperated expression on her face.

"What?" She asks, but Bloom just mutters something about 'needing another room' and turns away.

They do not stay up until midnight, but they do get pretty close and they do stargaze, so Scootaloo is willing to call it a win.

She wakes up at some indeterminable time, shaken awake by the feel of hot wind on her face. She blinks blearily, and almost yelps when she realizes she is muzzle to muzzle with Sweetie, who is sleeping peacefully.

She leans back a bit, ignoring the pang of cold that hits her when she does. She would back up completely, except that Sweetie's hoof is on her leg, and moving would probably wake her up.

So instead she closes her eyes and tries to ignore the thoughts telling her there's no better way to fall asleep.

Sweetie Belle is passing through town when she sees Tender Taps, and stops to say hello.

"Hey, Tapps, did I hear something about you being chosen for entertainment for the Grand Galloping Gala?"

"Yeah!" The colt smiles, demure. "It was so crazy! I still can't really believe it!"

"You are the best dancer in our town."

"Yeah, thanks to you and your friends. Speaking of which" he pauses, tilting his head at her "how are you and Scootaloo?"

There's teasing in his tone, but most of it is genuine curiosity, and Sweetie doesn't know what to do with that.

"We're fine" she says stiffly "BFF's, as always."

"Oh" he looks contrite for a second, but, before he can say anything else, another voice chirps up from down the street.

"Hey Sweetie!"

She has to take a second before answering "yeah Scootaloo?"

She doesn't say her friends nickname, because Tender Taps is already grinning like a foal who won the lottery.

Scootaloo is at the very top of the street, which is more of a hill, with an incline enough that Sweetie has to crane her neck a bit to meet her friends eyes.

"Watch this!"

And then, she's off, pushing a hoof off the ground and buzzing her wings to move her scooter along, she shoots down the hill like lightning, before flipping, head over hooves, with the scooter, just to bring the wheels back down to the ground again and brake a couple of feet in front of Sweetie.

She had heard about this trick, heard about Scootaloo practicing this, and that practice clearly paid off, going by the cheers and whistles rebounding the room.

But Sweetie's not paying attention to them, because she's already moving, closing the distance in seconds to throw her hooves around her Best Friend's neck.

Sometimes, it surprises Sweetie how small she is. Apple Bloom is an Apple, all tall and muscular, while Scootaloo is all lean and lanky, so she always looks tiny next to them.

Despite this, even though she's the second smallest in her entire class, and has to literally tilt her head back if she wants to talk to Bloom face to face, she forgets how absolutely tiny she is.

And then there's moments like this, where Scootaloo easily lifts her back hooves off the ground and Sweetie lets out a surprised squeak, which prompts a laugh from Scootaloo, who places her back on the ground.

She feels dizzy and warm and is acutely aware of everypony watching them, so she takes a small step back, so that they're not basically touching muzzles, and for a second, she thinks she sees Scootaloo's face fall.

"You should show that to Rainbow Dash" is what she says, and she brightens again, zooming off to find her idol.

Sweetie Belle can feel Tender Taps approach her.

"Don't say it" she says.

When Aunt Lofty sends her in to Carousel Boutique for more wool, Scootaloo isn't expecting to overhear a conversation between her Best Friend and her sister.

"How do you know you love someone?"

It's Sweetie's voice, but it doesn't sound right, all muted and nervous, and, oh boy, that is not a conversation Scootaloo should be overhearing. She looks around for a bell to ring or something, but, for all her professionalism, it seems that this never occurred to Rarity.

She eyes the door up, wondering if she can come back at some other time, but Aunt Lofty really wanted to finish her scarf, and this was the only place that would have this kind of wool.

A pause, and then Rarity's voice "well, that all depends. For some, it's sudden, while others, it's more . .  gradual."

"Is that what it was like? For you, I mean."

"No, no. She crept up on me."

The sentence is barely over before Sweetie is saying "me too! At least, I think she did? I never really noticed until recently, but . ."

Scootaloo frowned. She? Sweetie had never shown any interest in any fillies in their class before. She knew her Unicorn friend had a crush on a couple of colts before, but outside of that, she had never shown a special interest in any females before.

Unless . . .

Scootaloo's mind dragged up a picture, of Diamond Tiara and Sweetie Belle, deep in discussion, heads bent together. They had been talking about their parents, Scootaloo remembered. The two had found common ground in the fact that their parents were always gone for some reason.

She found herself wishing she had entered that conversation, not so much as to complain about her parents, than just to break up the strange closeness the two had.

Which was, of course, ridiculous. Sweetie was allowed to like whoever she wanted, right? It shouldn't matter to Scootaloo if her friend had a crush on someone.

"I, uh, I don't think she really likes me in that way though" and Sweetie sounded so dejected that Scootaloo fought the urge to round the corner and hug her.

"You don't know until you try" Rarity said, doing an admirable job of filling in for Scootaloo, who just wanted to comfort her little friend.

"But we're coworkers! It could mess everything up! Besides, Scoots has never shown any interest in girls before and-"

It's around there that the conversation fades away from Scootaloo as she carefully backs out of the boutique and onto her bike, any thought of the wool far from her mind.

Instead, she climbed aboard her scooter, and raced away, stopping when she was far enough away and collapsing on the ground.

She isn't sure how much time passes as she lays on the ground, staring up at the sky, painted gold and pink by the sunset.

Sweetie likes her.

Sweetie likes her?

Sweetie likes her!

Sweetie likes her.

What in the hell is she going to do?

Well, first off, a voice that sounds remarkably like Twilight Sparkle in her head says, do you like girls?

Scootaloo doesn't even have to stop and think of this, as it's a solid yeah. She remembers crushing on Princess Cadence when she was smaller, and a brief infatuation with Gabby.

She is, in her Aunt's words, the ultimate lesbian.

Okay, so, do you like Sweetie?

Now this, this gives her pause.

She remembers when she first met Sweetie; she and her parents had just moved from Oatstralia, and she had just discovered that bullies existed here in Ponyville too. Awesome. She had decided to take the traditional route and keep her head down, and don't talk to anyone. And yet, the day after she had decided that, a Unicorn had moved down from Caneighda to be with her sister more.

She and Sweetie Belle had known each other for a long time, longer than they knew Bloom at least.

She remembers the chill she had felt when she pulled away from Sweetie that night in the treehouse, of seeing her rushing across to congratulate her on her awesome trick the other day, eyes bright and grin even brighter-

Oh.

Oh hell.

The Gay Panic is starting to come in strong, and she now understands why Sweetie wanted to talk to Rarity about all this, because she has this overwhelming urge to run to her Aunts, because surely they'll know what to do.

Maybe she can ignore all this, and it'll just . .  go away?

She closes her eyes and immediately Sweetie Belle jumps into her mind, a Sweetie with slumped shoulders and teary eyes as she stares, defeated up at her Best Friend.

Immediately her eyes snap open again, because, that's not happening. She will not hurt Sweetie, she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she did.

Then she groans, because that was so cheesy and she is so, so screwed.

Apple Bloom walks into the tree house, looks at the two of them, working in complete silence, not looking at each other, and immediately walks back out.

"Ah've got chores to do!" She says in response to their questions and objections.

Sweetie can understand, though. Celestia knows, she would rather be anywhere than here right now, basking in the awkwardness she had created, because she is too awkward to talk to her Best Friend.

This is what you get, a part of her says, you want to make things complicated? You have to deal with the awkwardness.

"So" Scootaloo says, breaking the silence at last, and Sweetie immediately wants to curl up and die, because that is Scootaloo's this-is-gonna-be-so-awkward tone of voice. The last time she had used it, she had brought up why Sweetie's parents were never around. The time before that? Apple Bloom's parents.

Sweetie has learnt to fear that tone.

"So?" She echoes, deliberately innocent as she eyes the door for a quick escape.

"So I've been thinking" Scootaloo says "about you and me."

You know what? Forget the door, Sweetie will gladly take a hole to swallow her up in.

"You and I?" She repeats, correcting it slightly, because she at least pays attention in English.

"Yeah" Scootaloo smirks slightly, before it falls "I think it's time we talked about our, uh, friendship."

Sweetie screws her eyes up tight, pulse in her head as she tries to think her way out of this one. But, this, this is it. And Scootaloo clearly knows that she knows what she is talking about, going by how awkward she looks.

Well, if this is the end of their friendship, at least she should be honest about it.

"I'm sorry" she whispers, tears pricking her eyes. "you were never supposed to find out."

Scootaloo tilts her head, meeting Sweetie's eyes for a fleeting moment before looking away again "why not?"

"Because we're coworkers" Sweetie says miserably. "If I told you, things would be awkward between us, and then things would be awkward between us and Bloom and" she cuts herself off with a sigh "you guys are my first friends" she admits "I don't want to lose you."

"You guys are my first friends too" Scootaloo admits. "but who says things have to be awkward between us?"

"I- uh- what?"

Scootaloo kisses her.

It's brief and messy and as awkward as this conversation, but she does it and Sweetie is left standing, stock still, staring at the Pegasus, who has the same look of bafflement she does.

"That was my first kiss" is all she thinks to say, because why not?

Scootaloo laughs, loud and still nervous "yeah, me too."

Then she kisses Scootaloo, using her magic to pull her down to do so. It's more than she imagined it would ever be, and she feels oddly giddy, bouncing on her hooves slightly as she does so.

They pull apart and she grins up at the Pegasus, who smiles back down.

"Why" Scootaloo asks, laughing "didn't we do that sooner?"

Sweetie Belle laughs.

Small notes!

For the record, Canadian Sweetie Belle only came into existence because I wondered about Cookie Crumbles and Hondo Flanks, and it turns out their accents are midwestern or Canadian, and Canadian Sweetie was the greatest thing I have ever heard of ever. 

Plus, to me it would explain why Apple Bloom had never met Sweetie or Scootaloo before Call of the Cutie, which is especially odd since Ponyville is such a small town and they have the same class. So, they had both just moved there recently. 

Australian Scootaloo, is, of course, a given due to her heritage, but they move around so much she never really had time to develop an accent. She moved in with her aunts after they put their hooves down and demanded that Scootaloo be allowed to stay in one place long enough to make actual friends. Scootaloo thinks her parents are amazing and that nothing is wrong with them constantly leaving her, getting defensive if anyone has any word against them. Despite them missing her cutecenera by several months, she still enthusiastically greeted them and forgave them immediately

Sweetie’s parents, on the other hand, drift in and out of her life. They often take long, amazing trips without her or Rarity, leaving poor Sweetie feeling like they don’t want her and desperate for any attention, leaving her to cling to her sister for support (why she’s always at Rarities instead of at home). After they miss her cutecenera, she basically turns her back on them

[intensitystoner]

Scribble(s) continuing The heart of Anthony kinda Frostiron ~ 3,500 words ~ T for drinkin' and language (ignores Endgame)

– You build your walls around me –

The partially powered-up Tower isn’t secluded from old friends any more. It’s still a fort against the world, mostly SHIELD that’s looking for the god of mischief, former captive and a threat to the planet. Tony has offered him a hideout, a sheer professional payback for dragging him up, and a getback at the others for disturbing his private grief. He hasn’t set or asked about the length of the sorcerer’s stay, because he isn’t thinking in futures; in all honesty, he’s entirely indifferent towards anything in the world, including the battles going on outside. His primary activity is an on-going competition with the trickster: seeking to get drunk while constantly being hindered at it by his opponent. About twice after the reunion, Loki found the billionaire soaked in one of the rooms. Then he adapted, and now no more secret supplies of booze are left.

Currently, soberness is the second (or third) greatest torment factor in Tony’s life. The first is the vehement reaction of his system when he tries delving into work. But he doesn’t speak about that, his reluctance to cooperate appears as recovery sass, in Natasha’s wording. So the guys let it go for now with occasional attempts at persuading him. Only the remaining Avengers know about Loki’s presence – meaning, they’re the ones allowed to lay eyes on the pompous prince of the fallen Asgard. Fury believes to know very well, too, only he’s been unable to get through Tony’s self-righteous resistance, though he hasn’t used all force just now: he counts on Stark’s alliance once he gets back on his feet. No one is aware of the possibility that it might not happen.

“I’m not getting into an Ironsuit again. I get a panic attack at that instant,” he admits to unconcerned Loki, and only him, at one point.

“Why?” asks the sorcerer with faint curiosity.

There is no answer.

-

In a comical way, they take turns having nightmares.

Tony is warned out of his sleep by FRIDAY when the trickster’s body shows fight-or-flight responses. He usually lies awake with a screen open near himself until Loki stops tossing around and it’s certain that he won’t destroy the building in his sleep; but lately, more often than not, he directs FRIDAY to wake him up. The sorcerer startles awake by the polite voice in his room, no personal presence seems necessary to stop his body from choking in his sleep. After catching his breath, the notion of silently rolling his eyes and lying back shows he’s getting used to it.

His instincts warn when someone is struggling nearby. Perhaps it’s the tiniest muffled sounds that the mind doesn’t even find worthy to comprehend, or just a gut feeling. Since he started being stirred awake himself, he follows the habit and walks over to Tony’s bedroom when it’s his turn. The billionaire usually wakes up as he slides aside the supposedly locked automatic door and leans to the doorframe in a borrowed T-shirt yelling UNSUPERVISED.

"Do you also hear it when I... you know..." Tony's impudence gushes out.

"Perhaps," Loki responds just to tease back. "I'm a light sleeper, so I’d prefer a lack of disturbance nearby."

"Good thing the walls are sound-proof then, otherwise you'd look forward to perpetual insomnia here."

Something like that's the end of their conversation all the time, Loki doesn't care to be riled into annoyance by a lesser being during his rest. And Tony tries every single time. It's an efficient way of directing thoughts away from the dreams of loved ones perishing.

-

An important guest is due today: some nameless ambassador of one-sided negotiation attempts as SHIELD’s representative. Tony’s faded memories of a normal life suggest that tidying is required.

“Don’t be a scrooge, hex it clean with your magic,” he requests from the lanky figure standing by the window of the long not used corridor.

“Even if I’d be willing to comply, my field is illusions, not cleaning.”

“Works for me. Ready, steady, go.”

With a previously examined, dusty gym weight in hand, Loki glances at the man, marvelling at his naivety. Stark throws his arms up with a huff.

“You’re useless. You need to pay rent.”

“That I cannot do. But you just need to say the word and I’m out of here.”

Tony knows that, and he decides to stay silent at a whim. (Repeatedly. It’s a consequential series of whims.)

The nameless agent turns out to be Fury himself.

“I bring regards from the outside world ravaged by alien hordes,” he says in the clean-looking lounge.

“You have my consent to clone my ass, and only my ass, so no one is hindered at kissing it,” Tony answers while handing him a glass of apple juice unasked.

“How’s your new friend? Is he taking over us any soon?”

“My newest friend was killed by Thanos, if you don’t mind,” answers the billionaire with a sharp look, and he mutters into his own glass of non-alcoholic goo. “I’m stranded here all alone, no one out there could understand the toil I’m facing. I’m in such pain I’ve even quit drinking. At all.”

Fury’s snort is rather irate while he observes the man splash the juice out onto the nearest plant and place the glass upside down on its earth. He still has himself guided around on the floor, the search of his look subtle but undenied.

“I’d love to see you held hostage here, Stark,” he notes meanwhile; “rather than knowing what an ass you are in your entirety. The Government is growing weary of your idleness. They claim you’re withholding two things from the people, two things that’s their rightful share.”

“Just one. My ass is free to kiss now, as I've declared. As for my techno-genius… Nope, that’s also my private possession, sorry. And these parts of the building are long uncharted, I’ve sealed them for safety reasons,” Tony announces while standing between the veteran and the elevator door.

Fury doesn’t argue, possibly because he got what he came here for; but his dark eye bores into the other’s nonchalant mind.

“What is going on in you, Tony Stark?”

The billionaire sighs.

“FRIDAY, play Misery to make this little man understand.”

“That will not be necessary,” says the veteran turning around and walking towards the exit before Tony. “Our last unicorn will be out of his comfortable hiding spot eventually to wreak havoc. And I’ll be waiting.”

“Keep an eye out for him,” Tony Sass calls while the man leaves the fort amidst the ancient Beatles melodies.

Now Tony is the dragon of the castle, protecting the presence of the trickster, who is browsing through the charmingly simplistic human science books a floor above to pass the time.

-

"My stay goads your own kin against you," he notes, half-heartedly meaning it as a question, because the perceived result of Stark’s resistance is familiar. "Where do you go if you become a stranger here?"

“Nowhere. SHIELD can suck my dick. The Government can suck my dick, and you,” Tony faces him with steely darkness in his eyes; “can stay.”

Loki gazes back, awaiting a sign: whether he’s to refuse showing gratitude or it goes without saying. But Tony doesn’t seem to heed either by the time he speaks up again.

“We’re heading out,” he says while backing up. “I’m crashing tonight’s VIP gala of frill. And I’m taking you along.”

"Are you, now?" comes the scoff.

"Unless you're afraid of Fury," the billionaire says, his tone curious.

“Not me.” Loki’s pursed lips illustrate nonchalance.

“Dapper it is,” says Tony’s index finger pointed at the sorcerer before he reels out the door.

-

“No, nope,” he says upon sight. “Drop the black shirt.”

“There is no shame in sporting your finest demeanour, Anthony,” Loki responds.

“It’s 21st century New York, not a ‘90s vampire novel. You look utterly buffoonish, not to mention creepy. I’m going for some light-mooded tease of Fury here. Know what I mean?”

"Better than you think. You have this unexplainable impression to be in control."

“Right, Satan. White shirt, bow tie. Now.”

Loki huffs quietly while assuming the desired attire under his jacket, the teal eyes demanding at least a gush of satisfaction after the magical change. Tony’s lips tighten as he measures his companion.

“Great, now I’ll look like a garden gnome. Let’s go.”

-

The crowd of reporters go crazy about the lanky figure swaggering next to the mildly elderly, long not seen billionaire. Questions arise about his identity. A business partner? An appointed successor? Or?

Loki sports a lenient smile of silence behind the shorter man, who takes the distance between the car and the entrance in a steady pace and occasionally throws a brief response into the crowd to chew on.

My shadow for tonight, he names his companion at the umpteenth question, glancing back at him meaningfully, and the sorcerer responds with an ambiguous hum, keeping to himself that he isn't in the mood to seek trouble for now. Then he keeps on wondering about the expectant gaze on him in front of the unyielding guard at the top of the red-carpeted stairs. As Tony doesn't reach for tickets requested by the suited gorilla, his eyes roll up, and magic causes the attendant to give them way into the museum building.

During a break after a lengthy series of regards by hired guests and VIPs, they stop near the aquarium in the middle of the hall.

"This white shirt of your demand is utterly boring. Everyone is wearing the same," Loki notes, perhaps faintly sulking for the measly attention he's received so far compared to the billionaire.

“What are you wearing for real?” Tony asks while his look roams above the mass of famous heads.

“Scorn and power-mongering. You?”

The billionaire’s look rests up on him at the odd response, particularly on the glowing ring of blue fire around his iris in front of the water tank's oceanic lighting.

“Me. I’m always me. What’s the point of anything else?”

“Ambition.”

Tony steps farther and opens his arms, urging the sorcerer to take in his sight; his shirt looms electric blue, his eyes swallow all light."  

"This is where being myself has led. Is it any worse?"

"Isn’t it ambition what you are then?"

"Nope," he shakes his head. "I don’t give shits. Basic knowledge about me, besides that I don’t like being handed things."

"Why?" asks Loki again with remote interest, and he doesn't receive an answer.

“Time to pay respect to the caviar department,” Tony announces instead, his look on the freshly arrived figures near the entrance, clad in looks dark as their suits, and a grim mood.

He rejects a few attempts at chatting him up on the way there.

They linger in that company for a while, partly because there is a champagne fountain nearby. Tony is immersed in fazing some equally self-satisfied Asian tycoons with an excessive mockery of politeness; Loki listens and is royally ignored, experts quickly decipher he's got nothing to chat up for, and he takes up the role with a suppressed sigh. The billionaire pretends to ignore the teal eyes' look on his hand, he gulps down the long missed liquids undaunted.

At one point, the sorcerer bends closer to his ear during the queasy chatter, to keep discreet.

“Far from me to barge in, but are you counting the glasses you drain?”

"Don't bother setting mathematical challenges before me, I was over the curriculum at 11."

"Am I here then to watch you ruin the occasion for others?"

"All right, that coming from your mouth is vastly ironic, don't you think?"

“Six will be the line where you forget how to hold your tongue,” the sorcerer informs him.

“Make it ten then. What’s the number I’m at?”

“It was mere observation, not a rule I made, Anthony.”

“Call me Stark.”

Loki's eyes dart aside before a response would be given. Tony, interpreting the look at the thing visible over his own shoulder, finally says:

“Moving on. Lobster circles.”

Loki lets his amusement linger as he follows the man; there is no benefit in denying he’s having fun with the tease of the persistent agents.

"See that geezer clawing at his shrimps?" Tony mutters to the god walking a step behind him. "He'd be your guy if you'd plan to stay on Earth as an entrepreneur on the rise, for example. He'd be a sucker for your cruel tricks played on others. Maybe some other day, you're doing me a favour now," he reminds quickly to prevent his companion's suspected deserting.

"I am?"

Tony stops at the targeted buffet and faces him while picking up a plate of tootpick-stabbed sausage rolls.

"Since you can't pay rent, remember? Or is this actually out of gratitude?"

The sorcerer's unveiled smile indicates the naivety of the idea.

"You sweet, gullible man."

He graciously rejects the offered plate with an open palm, so Tony pilfers it himself. He seems immersed in the mass produced goods, his forehead gets wrinkled from intense concentration whenever another human stays near them.

"Getting tired?" Loki guesses.

"Of your imagined superiority? A little," the billionaire mutters while discovering the wine glasses at the back of the table. Replacing the plate with two of them, he presses one into the sorcerer's hand unasked, so he can clink his own to his. "To being a smart-ass."

Loki is aware that it's the first time the man left his solitude in the past years; that he is struggling with the crowd, the overwhelming input, and that his approaching fatigue is expectable. He knows that entertaining his proclaimed shadow is what keeps Tony from focusing on his discomfort. Loki is not much willing to be a saviour of this kind, especially while it isn't his own choice. He still pries the glass away from the billionaire's lips.

"Over the line," Tony warns him.

"We'd best move on yet again," Loki explains while placing the glass on the table beside his own.

They both glance towards the approaching agents, a semi-purposeful mistake: their eyes meet, and acknowledging the recognition, the suited figures speed up.

"I have nothing else planned for today," notes the billionaire while they hurry into the other direction. He snatches a pair of brandy from a waiter's plate, then stops to hand one to his companion, and to be able to speak unnoticed. "Guess we're going into hiding."

"You won't try persuading me to crawl under tables, I hope," Loki mutters.

"No way, it would be too hard to evade all the other lurkers."

"How many others here have a reason to lurk?"

Tony marvels at his ignorance for a breath, and then, with glass in hand, a circular movement points around the hall's crowd.

"Any rich bastards with an ambitious lady to drop her lipstick for them."

He observes the trickster's searching look on the people.

"Tell me you aren't thinking of turning into a woman."

"What? No way."

A few seconds pass in silence before they simultaneously break into a tense laughter. Their discomfort turns them away from each other; they hurry on as they catch their breaths in their respective pace.

Leaving their emptied glasses on the railing, they climb a row of cushioned stairs and stop on the interior balcony, overlooking the hub of the party and Fury's men moving towards them in the crowd. They're standing at the entrance of an unlit corridor, sealed with a gold-infused rope, which Tony then ignores with a careless step over it, wordlessly inviting Loki along.

They wander through a labyrinth of rooms, intruding a few guests' private activities; some they bump into several times by the time they figure out the directions.

Tony explains on the way that this building is cultural heritage, in the possession of a culture-loving fella. No, it isn't a place for private living. You can't buy it and redesign it at your leisure. But really, living alone in such a gloryhole must surely be a pain. Walking five miles to reach the toilet or the fridge. All these super thick and ultimately breakable walls keep blocking any kind of wireless connection. If you want to live in a castle, you're better off designing a modern one for your own personalised comfort.

He stops in the umpteenth entertainment hall with an unsettled frown.

"Do you think they couldn't keep up, after all?"

"They're common humans," Loki points out. "You must know how weak their senses are."

"You remember being held captive by common humans, right?"

"They can be tricky," the sorcerer admits reluctantly. "Most likely, however, these ones are just passing through doors randomly, without a clue about which way we went."

"Then maybe we could give them an advantage by making some ruckus, how about that?" Tony asks while walking to the piano at the corner.

"And the aim is...?"

The billionaire opens the lid and runs his hand through the keys, producing a disharmonious arch.

"The sweet feeling of having pissed off someone unimportant. Judging from your brother's tales, I deem you up for it."

Loki smirks while leaning to the wall with arms crossed.

"Trying to define me leads nowhere. Play that thing instead."

"Well, I can't. I thought you'd be into it, coming to Earth in this ancient-fashioned style and all."

"It's still a different world, I don't know all your tools. How do you play this one?"

Tony purses his lips.

"Press these keys?"

The sorcerer separates from the wall with a sigh and repositions himself on the wooden seat. Glancing up at the man now leaning on top of the instrument, he presses down a key, as required.

"Why don't you try using all fingers?" Tony suggests. "You you know, like-" And he reaches over to produce another dissonant tune with a hand.

The sorcerer's eyebrows run up while placing both hands over the keys.

There is no real beginning or warm-up, he produces a lengthy, fast-paced tune right away, catching the listener of-guard with it. The constantly varying, never recurring patterns move on the entire width of the scale; the melody takes a high flight, then it falls meekly, taking capricious detours on the way to the bottom. It stops there, replaced by a glance up at the billionaire.

"Wow," Tony comments unmoving. "If I was a fan of modern classical, I'd want to lick all ten of your fingers. Can you do toes? Tongue? Hair?"

"Let's not press it further," Loki suggests as he stands up.

They walk out of the dark corridor without encountering anyone offensive, and they can't help wondering if the agents got lost in the labyrinth of rooms forever. But the unanswered question doesn't bother them for long.

“One last photo before we leave?” Tony offers like he’s bringing refreshment.

“I believe the point has gone through already.”

“Very well." He snatches away a last whiskey from a passing plate and gulps it down. “No secret routes then, they swarm with paparazzi. My suggestion is the main exit. Got anything better?”

They both know he has. In the upstairs washroom where security cameras don't reach, Loki offers his arm over the toilet with the conceit of an aristocrat. It’s how they step out again, magic infused in their bodies and making them invisible to ordinary eyes. Tony has the time of his life while they scoot and reel away among unsuspecting guests arm in arm, seeking the least populated way out; Loki needs to shush him every twenty steps. And he needs to receive harsh threats to refrain from straying towards the vault. Tony is ready to shed his own blood to preserve the sorcerer’s record at its current state: staining it today would namely kill the purpose of this entire ruckus, the tuxedo, the surprise appearance, the avoidance of Fury’s men, the brash display of indifference.

-

The plan worked, next day’s headlines are filled with the fancy pair. Meanwhile, the ‘or’ option finds excessive popularity in the tabloids. The root cause of it are the photos snapped around the aquarium and some other points of their journey. Tony standing before his companion with open arms. Loki bending close to his ear to share something personal. Tony glancing back at him to exchange a knowing blink. Receiving the warmest of smiles. Drinks in hand, laughing at the world around them. Sneaking right into the closed area where no guests are allowed.

Who's the mysterious escort? How much did he cost? Tony Stark coming out?

The man of the day, still sitting dressed in sportswear after a long missed morning jog, drops the phone in his lap and leans back to massage the brim of his nose, his grin rather uncomfortable.

“Not caring is bliss,” he mumbles and tugs the hood down over his eyes.

~ 🎵 ~

[invisibletinkerer]

Fic: 30 Seconds Later (chapter 10)

Chapter 1 – Chapter 2 – Chapter 3 – Chapter 4 – Chapter 5 – Chapter 6 – Chapter 7 – Chapter 8 – Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11

Length: ~4500 words

AO3 Link

Stanford blinked, slowly, his eyelashes uncomfortably crusted for some reason. He’d been on the beach, and there’d been some kind of trouble, but right now he was resting against something warm and safe, so it seemed best to just close his eyes again.

No.

No, what was he thinking, what was he doing? He pushed himself up and scrambled to his feet on a surge of panic. How could he possibly think it was fine? He’d been asleep again, his body was betraying him just like everything else did, it was already too late. He hit his back hard against the covered mirror on the opposite side of the room, clenching his large hands in the fabric and stared wild-eyed around him, trying to understand what had happened.

The blurry, grey-haired person he’d been resting against in the couch grumbled his name. “Stanford?”

Stanley. Of course.

He remembered. The barrier spell. Bill was blocked out.

He was safe.

He was safe.

He was safe.

Ford made himself draw a deep breath, slowly letting go of the cloth behind him and allowing his shoulders to relax, repeating the words like a mantra in his mind. He was safe. For now. Bill couldn’t touch him.

“Stanford?” Stanley repeated, sounding more worried this time. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Ford said hoarsely, trying to will his heart to slow down, his head to stop throbbing. “I believe so.” Bill wasn’t here. Bill hadn’t been in his mind or body since before he’d entered this room. He hadn’t endangered anything by sleeping. Stanley was fine, the children were fine, the world was fine. He hadn’t lost control.

Running a hand through his hair, he tried to parse the repercussions or lack thereof of this course of events. He’d slept undisturbed. His mind must have been throwing randomized memories and emotions at him, but natural dreams were harmless, and Bill hadn’t been there. His body had actually had a chance to rest.

“Bad dreams?” Stanley asked.

“No—no, hardly that bad,” Ford said, making an attempt to bring the fleeting images of the dream back to mind. He’d been on Glass Shard Beach. Stanley had been there, with gray hair and a dirty red jacket, standing on the deck of the Stan o’War and threatening to burn the unicorn hair, but Ford had been preoccupied with a futile effort to erase the myriad triangles someone had carved into the sand. Discomforting, certainly, but not delibitating. “Bill stayed out of my head, and I think I slept well. I was just startled upon waking.”

Stanley grunted. “Fair enough.”

Ford leaned back against the mirror and closed his eyes – and it was alright to do so, he was safe – and tried to take stock of himself. His throat was parched, and there was a distracting headache pounding the insides of his skull to the beat of his still racing heart. He probably shouldn’t have moved so quickly. The skin on his chest was throbbing even worse, heating up as if Bill had burned him rather than cut him last night, sticky and clammy under his clothes, but he refused to think further about that mess. He felt thoroughly sore. Bruised. But none of it was new, and despite everything, he felt – better. More real. The exhaustion hadn’t gone away, but it felt more like simple weariness than having his consciousness balanced on razor-sharp blades at the moment.

With a final sigh, he relaxed and didn’t even stumble on the way back to the couch. He picked up his glasses and the opened Pitt cola he hadn’t finished earlier on the way, draining the stale soda in a single gulp as he sat down. “What time is it?” he asked, leaning forward with his arms on his knees.

“A couple of minutes past five in the afternoon.” Stanley yawned while checking his watch. “I can’t believe I slept that long. Probably good for you, though. You feel any better now?”

“Yes, I—” Ford hesitated. “I still can’t believe it. I never meant to—well.” He rubbed his eyes hard with the heels of his hands, then put his glasses back on. “I needed this.” He’d prefer not to talk about his earlier breakdown, not to mention falling asleep on top of his brother like a small child, but despite the embarrassment he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Safety was such an amazing luxury, and Stanley was—

Helping him. Part of him was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Thanks,” he mumbled finally, deliberately not looking at his aged twin. He wanted to berate himself for showing that kind of vulnerability, but in the end, no harm seemed to have been done. Stanley made a decent pillow, that was all.

“Heh,” Stanley said beside him, stretching his arms. “Told ya we could fix it. We’ll have you back up and nerding out in no time.”

The familiar fatigue in Ford’s limbs reminded him that he could probably sleep more – and the realization that he could sleep more, risking no immediate horrors, made him chuckle briefly with a mixture of amusement and wonder. Perhaps he had more time left than he’d dared hope. There was still an apocalypse with his name on it waiting in the wings, but he would be content to take Stanley’s earlier advice and delay the expedition to the UFO crash site until tomorrow. Amazingly, a delay didn’t have to mean deterioration of his chances.

Stanley was standing up and stretching further, loudly cracking his back. “So,” he said, “You gonna admit you’re hungry already, or am I gonna have to drag you to the kitchen?”

Ford considered it and found that he was, indeed, hungry. “I suppose I could eat,” he said. Although he was sorely tempted to go back to sleep immediately, some nourishment might give him a bit of much needed strength back.

“Good, because now I’m starving, and you’re running out of excuses not to eat. Let’s raid the kitchen for leftovers, shall we?”

Ford flinched. Those words – that infliction – were too familiar, assaulting him with a wave of unwelcome déjà vu. A simpler time, a beloved brother, and damn it all, but he’d missed him.

“Stop it!” he blurted.

“Stop what?”

Stop sounding so much like yourself. Stop making me think we’re still—

“Never mind,” Ford deflected quietly. He had more important things to worry about. Stanley had ruined everything for him at least once – twice, if he counted the yesterday of thirty years ago, although perhaps he’d had very little left to be ruined at that point. And he had ruined everything for Stanley in turn. They were both better off without a twin. This aching emptiness inside him was ridiculous. “Let’s go,” he said.

Passing though the metaphysical barrier should not have been a physical sensation, but crossing the threshold still made a chill go down Stanford’s spine. Beyond it he was vulnerable again. For a moment he froze, a cowardly part of him ready to turn back to the miraculous sanctuary, but no. He couldn’t lock himself in a room. Bill was still out there, and even if he could hide himself from the demon forever, Bill would find other ways to bring about the end of the world unless Ford could put a stop to it. He hoped that the manic laughter in the back of his mind was just his imagination.

The soundless laughter blended with the headache, but didn’t cease even as Stanley found a large plate of no less than six pre-assembled cold tacos in the fridge, grinning at Ford as he set them on the table and started digging into them with good appetite.

Stanford would have done the same if he could. The tacos smelled simultaneously delicious and nauseating, flavorful and filling, spicy and greasy. He picked one up and found himself staring at it as if it was an opponent set to tear down his carefully constructed thesis. The thesis being: he was hungry. Carefully nibbling a small bite, chewing and swallowing, he found his stomach churning painfully, an annoying wave of nausea passing through him.

Trying to find something else might an option – he’d eaten a whole pancake this morning before his stomach started protesting – but he’d never been a picky eater and this seemed like a frustrating time to start. Just because he hadn’t been eating in a while didn’t have to mean he was psysically incapable. Sighing, he got up to the sink, fetched a glass from the cupboard – Stanley’s glass, Stanley’s cupboard, Stanley’s house, Stanley’s food – and filled it with water. He drank deeply, then refilled. At least that felt good going down.

He’d just sat down by the table again when the children came bouncing down the stairs. Well, Mabel bounced – Dipper came after, stiffly and carefully, hindered by the injuries Ford’s carelessness had inflicted on him. Ford looked away, wishing they wouldn’t see him.

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel exclaimed, throwing herself around Stanley’s neck. “We thought you were gonna sleep forever!”

“Ah,” Stanley said, gently pulling her off him. “Yeah, sorry about that, pumpkin. But on the bright side, the barrier worked fine, so no one’s gonna get sleep possessed again.” He glanced at Ford who did not look up. “You’re a hero, sweetie,” he told Mabel.

She shrugged. “Maybe, but I think heroism is relative,” she said. “Just like being pure of heart.”

“Fair,” Stanley admitted, raising a finger. “Protecting the family from demons sounds pretty heroic to me, though. What do you say, Poindexter?”

Ford gave up on his staring contest with the taco, being obliged to look at the weird, charming child who had done the impossible for his sake. “Yes,” he said. It would have been mostly to protect her actual family, not him, but she had handled herself above and beyond what anyone could have expected, and giving him this gift after what he had done to her brother – she shouldn’t have had to. “You did well, Mabel,” he managed.

She beamed at him. “You’re welcome, uncle Ford!”

“So, um,” Dipper’s voice appeared from Ford’s other side, “Did you have a good nap?”

Ford turned reluctantly to the boy. He looked more than a little bit nervous, and for good reason. “Much better than I deserved,” he replied solemnly. “Don’t worry, I won’t allow him to hurt you again.”

“Good, that’s good… Um...” Dipper bit his lip, apparently trying to say something else, but unable to get it out. Ford took the paus as an opportunity to focus on the meal, forcing himself to take a big bite out of the taco. If he was going to eat it he might as well go ahead and do it.

That was a mistake. The greasy taco meat seemed to grow disproportionally in his mouth, making it a struggle to swallow, and once he succeeded in getting it down, it tried to get back up. He hulked, putting a hand over his mouth and fighting not to vomit all over the kitchen table as his own stomach turned against him. For a panicked moment he was convinced it was Bill’s doing, this was some new trick to throw him out of his own body. His insides were burning with acid and spasming with gag reflexes, and the rest of the world disappeared in a blur next to his desperate efforts to stay in control.

Somehow he was able to push it down. The next thing he knew he was panting painfully, eyes filled with hot tears and a figurative knife twisting in his stomach, but he was still himself, and the bite he’d taken had stayed inside him. Someone was holding up his water glass for him. He took it and drank gratefully.

Logically, it wasn’t Bill. It was just nausea. Just nausea. His own body was betraying him, but that was nothing new either, and he was stronger than that. He shoved the fear back before it threatened to drown him again. No need to panic.

Stanley’s hand was on his shoulder, the weight uncomfortable but grounding. Without looking at anyone, Ford wiped his face with a hand, then placed his elbows on the table and leaned his forehead into his palms, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He resisted the urge to press a hand to his aching stomach, too reluctant to touch the infuriating marks that covered it. His shoulders wouldn’t stop trembling.

“Are you alright, Sixer?” Stanley’s gravelly voice was almost soft.

“Yes,” he replied reflexively. “I’m fine. I’m not in any immediate danger of being possessed or passing out.”

“That’s not really what I was asking for,” Stanley said, his voice still inappropriately worried. “You’ve barely eaten at all, and that kinda sounded like you were gonna throw up.”

“I’m fine,” Ford repeated. His stomach churned unhappily at him, but he wasn’t dying, and he’d survive a while longer on what he’d managed to swallow, surely. He forced himself to look up for a moment to meet Stanley’s eyes.

Stanley’s slitted, yellow-tinted eyes.

Ford stiffened, heart pounding, but it was gone when he blinked. It couldn’t have been there at all. Could it?

“No, you’re not fine.” Stanley grimaced and glanced at the plate of tacos, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “You need something easier on the stomach, don’t you? I didn’t even think of that; how did I not think of that?”

Ford managed to draw enough air to speak. “It’s fine!”

“No, it’s not!” Stanley let go of Ford and raised his hands in exasperation. “Stop hurting yourself, Sixer!”

Bill had said the exact same words, mocking him, telling him to give up. Stanley didn’t mean it that way, surely not, but something snapped. Ford slammed his fists on the table and pushed himself up, staring at Stanley, ignoring the way his head throbbed at the movement. “Why do you care?” he said, louder than he’d intended. “Why do any of you care?” It struck him anew how none of this made any sense. He couldn’t afford to question it, but could he afford not to? Stanley’s insistence on fixing Ford before fixing the rift. The children’s eagerness to help, not just for the sake of world, but for him.

Stanley’s pose deflated. “Stanford…”

“I’m hurting myself? Bill is in my mind, Stanley! I’ve been doing whatever it takes to fight him! And now you’re—” He stopped, eyes widening with a horrifying possibility. “—you’re undoing it.”

Stanley winced, as if knowing his own guilt.

“You want me to lower my guard, don’t you?” Ford continued, voice hard. “You want me to stop fighting.” Something inside him warned that this didn’t make sense either, it didn’t add up, but nevertheless the possibility was there. Stanley had mocked his work for thirty years. He could be mocking him now, making him believe safety was even possible before ripping it all away again. He slowly took a step backwards, then another.

“Ford, don’t.” Stanley sounded almost pained. “There’s a difference between stopping you from fighting and helping you fight.”

“Is there?” Not if this was all a trick. It wasn’t, he knew it wasn’t, but what if it was? He needed to escape, but there was nowhere to go and all the stakes were right here. All too familiar helplessness started to flood him, and he fought to keep it down like he’d fought the nausea. “Stanley – you pushed me through the portal.” He could have been planning this all along, taking Ford’s life and turning it to a mockery. Bill could have planned this. Family can betray you. Bill knew.

“Stanford, no,” Stanley breathed. “You know I never meant to do that. I’ve regretted that one moment for the last thirty years. You can’t believe I’d do that on purpose.”

“I didn’t believe you’d wreck my science project either!”

“I’m sorry!” Stanley almost screamed, then took a deep breath, slowly unclenching his fists. “Listen to yourself, Poindexter. Why the hot belgian waffle would I want you to sleep and eat and recover if I was going to screw you over? That demon’s messing with you, but you’re smarter than this.”

Was he, though? At some point he’d backed into the stove and now he was half leaning against it with his hands clenched behind his back, acutely aware of the children looking on with wide eyes. Human eyes, as far as he could tell. Stanley was right, Bill was messing with him. Bill would want him to relax and lower his guard, but he wouldn’t want him to recover.

Was that even possible to recover? Was that also a mockery?

“Breathe, Ford!”

He was trying, but his lungs refused to do more than hyperventilate.

“Look, just – he hurt you. I get it. And you had to fight back by hurting yourself, I get it. But you don’t have to do that anymore! Okay? Look at me! You’re not alone anymore.”

Ford finally managed to draw a deeper, shaky breath. “I know,” he panted, and it was only partly a lie. “But why? Why do you—why do you care what happens to me? What does it matter?” That was the sticking point. He wanted to trust Stanley. That’s why he’d sent for him in the first place. But if Bill had taught him anything, it was that things that seemed too good to be true tended not to be.

“You’re—” Stanley bristled, but Ford interrupted him.

“I made my own mistakes! They’re not your responsibility! All I asked you to do was to hide a journal!”

“Yeah,” Stanley said, “And if I’d left and done that you would’ve been dead within days back then! You wouldn’t even tell me what was going on!”

“I would have been dead, but I might have prevented the end of the world and no one else would have had to suffer for my mistakes! Including you!”

Stanley narrowed his eyes. “You’re not even gonna argue about the ‘dead’ part?”

Ford ignored that; it wouldn’t have been worth lamenting, not if he could have ensured the portal and the journals were never used again first. “And then, once I was gone, you had no reason whatsoever to bring me back, and every reason not to. Even now, you keep insisting on helping me over and above dealing with the crack in reality that you caused. Why?”

“I told ya. You’re my brother.”

“That’s not—”

“But you wouldn’t do the same for me.” Stanley looked down and crossed his arms defensively. “That’s fine. I make my own choices.”

Ford glanced at Dipper, remembering what the boy had said this morning. You’re family, that makes it worth it. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t,” he mumbled, finally feeling his shoulders sag and his fists unclench on the stove behind him. He kept his eyes open and focused on remembering how to breathe.

“Whatever.” Stanley shrugged slightly. “Just. Please. I didn’t spend thirty years on that machine just to have you kill yourself as soon as I got you back.”

Ford didn’t have a response to that. It had never been his intent to commit suicide, but he’d accepted that Bill would kill him eventually. That hadn’t changed.

“I’m gonna check if I’ve got some canned soup or something for you.” Stanley turned away and started rummaging through the cupboard that served as pantry. “Give me a few minutes and don’t disappear into thin air, willya.”

Ford didn’t argue, or move. Disappearing into thin air was neither possible – at least not without the portal, and he wasn’t keen on repeating that experience – or likely to help matters in any way. He did wince hard and hiss in pain when Mabel appeared next to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her head painfully against injuries he’d made sure she knew nothing about.

“Did you sleep alright, at least?” she asked.

“Yes,” he muttered, carefully unwrapping himself from the embrace. “Thanks to you, I did get some rest.”

She smiled, perhaps slightly too wide, too strained – and Ford tensed, but her eyes were normal and he needed to trust that that meant something. “Good!” She looked at him intently. “We’ll fix the rest too, don’t worry!”

“Mabel.” Ford hesitated. She meant it, didn’t she? She meant every word, with even less justification than Stanley had. He drew a deep breath and tried to be rational. “I told you before to stay away from me.”

“And I told you before – nope!” She reached up and poked his nose.

Ford jerked back and didn’t reply. The best he could do was to gently push her aside and leave the kitchen, as if he could leave his own conflicted thoughts and fears behind. He needed to do something useful. The journals. The rift. The bed. He half expected Stanley to try to stop him, but his brother was in the middle of saying something to Dipper and only glanced at him. Mabel, however, followed along – whether on Stanley’s unspoken orders or her own accord was unclear.

He’d only meant to pick up the third journal from the TV chair, but instead he found himself reclining in the chair with the book in his lap, leaning his head back against the cushion and rubbing his temples. It was safe, he reminded himself. He’d had some real rest and wasn’t half unconscious anymore. He wouldn’t hurt anyone by sitting down for a moment, and no one would hurt him, either.

“You know,” Mabel said, bouncing on her toes next to the armrest. “I know you wrote that in the journal, but I need to tell you that trusting no one is stupid. Then you’d be all alone all the time, and that makes people wonky in the head!”

Ford huffed. Yes. He was ‘wonky in the head’. Anyone would be in his position, if you disregarded the fact that no one else would be in his position in the first place. “I know,” he said with a sigh, half hoping that Mabel would go away, half wishing she’d stay and distract him. He took a moment to flip through the journal, confirming that it was still intact, before turning back to the girl. “Do you still have the journal I lent you?” he asked.

“Of course I do!” Mabel said, immediately rushing off to the hallway by the door. “It’s right here in my backpack!” The bag in question lay discarded on the floor under the coat rack, and after a moment of rummaging through it Mabel produced Ford’s first journal. “Do you need it back?”

“Yes.” Stanford got up and took it from her with a curt nod. It seemed no worse for the wear either, through he’d noticed earlier that Journal 1 showed a lot more wear and tear than the other two, presumably because it had been studied by Stanley for decades. His guts clenched for reasons quite unrelated to food at that mental image, but he shrugged it off, stacking Journal 1 with Journal 3 on the crook of his arm.

It wasn’t that he needed the journals himself, exactly, but with everything else going on, he’d momentarily lost track of both of these, and it was a relief to have them accounted for. They were still too dangerous to lose, too dangerous to risk them falling into the wrong hands. The previous hiding places were unsafe, so he’d have to figure something else out soon, but for tonight he’d just put them away in the warded room.

Re-entering the barrier should not have felt as overwhelming as it did. He had to fight down a feverish urge to curl up on the couch and never move again, but he couldn’t allow that, not while his handiwork was still a threat. Mabel was still tailing him, admiring the glowing line along the walls that made up the physical components of the barrier spell while Ford hid the two journals out of sight in the liquor cabinet. He half-consciously noted that all the bottles and flasks were empty, even the ones he hadn’t yet finished yesterday, thirty years ago. Stanley must have drained them, before he boarded the room up.

“Did you know that you and Stan looked really adorable when you were napping before?” Mabel said suddenly.

“Adorable?” Ford repeated, rising to his feet and taking a deep breath, trying to settle the pain in his head and body. He didn’t believe Mabel was using the word condescendingly, but it still sat wrong with him.

“Yes! Like a couple of kittens!”

He stared at her. This should probably be amusing. “I’m a grown man,” he said. “And Stanley is... well, he’s twice my age. Hardly a kitten.”

“Nope, you totally looked like kittens! So cute!” She grinned innocently.

Ford clenched his teeth around a curse. Bill had called him cute, too. ‘Cute’ was struggling against the hold he had allowed Bill to have on him. ‘Cute’ was trying to prevent an apocalypse he himself had instigated. Perhaps ‘cute’ was falling asleep next to his brother and believing that was fine. “I’d rather not be called that,” he said tersely.

Mabel blinked. “But uncle Ford! Kittens are awesome!”

“There’s nothing wrong with kittens,” Ford conceded, shuddering as he left the barrier again and headed back to the living room. He’d find the final journal and the rift itself down in the basement.  “It’s a more appropriate appellation for children, though.”

“In that case, you and grunkle Stan must have been extra adorable when you were kids!”

He sighed softly. “Perhaps.” He’d walked right into that one.

“Hey, Ford.” Stanley appeared in the kitchen doorway, eyes flicking from Ford to Mabel and back.

“Don’t worry, grunkle Stan!” Mabel said and slipped her hand into Ford’s as if for emphasis. ”I’ve got this!”

Ford withdrew his hand immediately. So she was here to keep an eye on him, then. As if that would end well for anyone.

“Come here,” Stanley said, reaching around to give Ford a gentle push on the back. “There’s some hot soup for ya now, and then you can go back to sleep or something.”

“Oh. Yes. Soup.” Ford blinked. It was, admittedly, a good idea. He could argue that it wasn’t strictly necessary – he’d be functional for a while longer, especially if he did get all the sleep his body was yearning for. But his body was yearning for nourishment, too, and with safe sleep within his grasp, there was nothing stopping him from eating but his own frailty, and soup would work. It would make him stronger.

The whole situation struck him as absurd in so many ways. The world was liable to end, and Stanley of all people was fussing about making him eat, while a grand niece too old to have been his daughter compared him to a baby cat. He huffed a sound that might have been a helpless laughter. The only part of his current existence that he could still understand was the threat to all reality. But yes, he’d take that soup.

[thorne93]

No Matter What (Part 10)

Prompt: Imagine you’re an Avenger and you meet Bucky for the first time during Civil War

Word Count: 3359

Warning: Language, fighting, violence, angst

Notes: This will follow Cap America: Civil War…. I envisioned a younger reader who’s like 19-24 years old, btw. Not beta’d - all mistakes are mine

Forever Tags: @amarvelouswritings @cocosierra94 @essie1876 @magpiegirl80 @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @harleyquinnandscarletwitch @iamwarrenspeace @marvel-imagines-yes-please @superwholocked527 @myparadise1982sand @missinstantgratification @thejulesworld @rda1989 @marvelloushamilton @munlis  @bubblyanarocks3​ @thefridgeismybestie​ @random-fluffy-pink-unicorn @hardcollectionworldtrash @igiveupicantthinkofausername @kaliforniacoastalteens​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @kaeling @ijustwanttobepartofyourworld

Sebastian Stan Tag: @nedthegay @lostinspace33 @alwayshave-faith @elleatrixlestrange @buenostardissherlock  @lenawiinchester​ @the-red-world-of-jess-chibi​ @memory-of-a-goldfish @mellsstark

Bucky Barnes: @nedthegay @lostinspace33 @alwayshave-faith @elleatrixlestrange @ultrarebelheart @lenawiinchester @its-not-a-tulpa

No Matter What: @void-imaginations @devil-may-cry-11-blog @james-heaven-barnes @mrs-lancelot​ @gingergrad​ @eyelinernim​ @fairchild21 @its-not-a-tulpa @shifutheshihtzu

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

“Wake up,” Steve said to you two as he hovered over you. You woke up to find you Bucky's hand on your hip, making you feel things you probably shouldn’t. “Barton’s almost here. We have to move.” He glanced to Bucky’s hand briefly before turning to grab his boots.

“Alright,” you said with a groggy voice as you sat up, Bucky’s hand gliding off of you. The sensation of his touch leaving yours left you feeling somehow empty...

It felt like you slept five minutes.You were still exhausted.

You all jumped up, went downstairs, checked out of the hotel, and filed back into the car. Before you could even get settled, you were pulling into the airport parking garage, parking beside a van.

As soon as you all jumped out, Barton and Wanda were out of the van.

You ran to hug Clint, you hadn’t seen him in about ten months.

“It’s so good to see you!” you said in a hushed, excited whisper as he hugged you back.

“Hey, kid. Good to see you, too.” He let you go as you stood beside him.

“You know I wouldn't have called If I had any other choice,” Steve said.

“Hey man, you're doing me a favor. Besides, I owe a debt,” Clint reminded as they nodded to each other.

“Thanks for having my back,” Steve said to Wanda.

“It was time to get off my ass,” she noted with a tiny smirk. You grabbed her hand and squeezed it.

“How about our other recruit?” Steve asked as he gestured to the van. You had almost forgotten you were about to meet another friendly face.

“He's rarin' to go. Had to put a little coffee in him, but... he should be good,” Clint said as he slid open the door to behold a sleeping man. You stifled a giggle. He sat up and shook his head and rubbed his eyes.

“What time zone is this?” he asked.

“Come on, come on,” Clint urged and the man stepped out.

“Captain America,” he breathed in amazement as he went forward to shake Steve’s hand.

“Mr. Lang,” he greeted back.

“It's an honor. I'm shaking your hand too long. Wow! This is awesome! Captain America.” He let his hand drop as he turned to recognize Wanda and Steve introduced you to him. Greetings went around everyone as you seemed to gravitate back towards Bucky. He was standing by himself on the other side of the car, and you didn’t want him to be or feel alone. You walked over and held his metal hand for support and assurance.

“We should get moving,” he interjected, stopping the conversation that was flowing.

“We got a chopper lined up,” Clint informed.

An announcement came on and you heard your native tongue and recognized the greeting immediately.

“They’re evacuating the airport,” you and Bucky said in unison. He eyed you for a moment, probably wondering how you knew that.

“Stark,” Sam said with realization.

“Stark?” Scott questioned, frowning.

“Suit up,” Steve ordered.

You were able to find an access door that was unlocked that lead to an employee restroom that was unoccupied. Everyone had carried their gear to the bathroom and changed quickly. Afterwards, everyone met back in the hall.

“Okay, here’s the play,” Steve started, “Bucky and Sam are going to stay inside the airport. Try to get to the helicopter. If you can, get in it and go. If you can’t, find the quinjet. I’m going to try to talk to Tony, maybe he’ll listen--”

“And if he doesn’t?” you asked, fearing the answer you already knew in your gut.

“Then we go through him. He wants to bring us in, fine, but he can do it after we stop this guy and the winter soldiers,” Steve stated firmly. “Wanda, you stay back until we need you. Barton, I want you and Wanda together. You keep your eyes on me and stop Tony. Lang, I want you on my shield. Someone’s going to try and take it, probably, at some point. You need to be on it and be ready, can you do that?”

“Yes, sir,” he said confidently.

“Okay, good.”

“Steve?” His eyes flashed to yours with a question in them. “Me?” you asked.

“I want you with me. Hopefully, Tony will go easy if you’re out there. Maybe it’ll even make him stop to think.”

You nodded.

“Everyone good? Comms on?” Steve asked. Everyone checked their ear pieces. All was on and functioning. “Barton, you and Wanda set up over there,” Steve instructed, pointing to another parking garage. “Okay, everyone ready?”

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

You and Steve walked out of the underpass to the parking garage. Your nerves were alive with fire. You didn’t want to face your friends. You didn’t want to hurt or fight any of them.

As soon as you made it to the private runway, the chopper just in sight, an electronic disabler was shot onto the chopper and you immediately stopped, tensing up, your heart racing in response.

Tony and Rhodes descended from the sky in front of you.

“Wow, it's so weird how you run into people at the airport. Don't you think that's weird?” Tony said as he turned to Rhodes.

“Definitely weird,” he said.

“Hear me out, Tony. That doctor, the psychiatrist, he's behind all of this,” Steve started.

T’Challa lept over a truck nearby and you got into a defensive stance. This king was in your book of bad people. He went after Bucky and Steve, that was something you wouldn’t tolerate.

“Captain,” he greeted.

“Your highness,” Steve said back.

T’Challa turned his head slightly to look at you but you glared at him.

Tony spoke up again. “Anyways. Ross gave me 36 hours to bring you in. That was 24 hours ago. Can you help a brother out?”

“Tony, listen,” you started, “you’re going after the wrong guy. Come with us, we’ll show you. Bucky didn’t do this.”

“What? Did he brainwash you too? I thought you were the smart one on Cap’s team, guess I was wrong.”

His words stung you worst than you thought they would. You choked back a few tears. Tony was never mean to you. Sure, he razzed you, teased you, and joked around with you, but he was never legitimately hateful or cruel. At least...he used to not be.

“As for you, Cap, your judgement is askew. Your old war buddy killed people yesterday,” Tony stated. For a brief moment, your stomach lurched. You didn’t know he had killed anyone. You thought the agents were simply knocked out...But that didn’t change anything. Bucky couldn’t help it. He didn’t have a choice…

“And there are five more super soldiers just like him. I can't let the doctor find them first, Tony. I can't,” Steve said with strong conviction.

Natasha was suddenly on the runway, speaking. “Steve... you know what's about to happen. Do you really wanna punch your way out of this one?”

“All right, I've run out of patience. Underoos!”

Out of nowhere, a guy in red and blue tights flipped over you two, stole Cap’s shield, bound both of your hands with some sort of webbing, then landed on a luggage truck.

“Nice job, kid,” Tony noted. A weird pang of jealousy rocketed through you as your eyes narrowed on the guy in tights.

“Thanks. Well, I could've stuck the landing a little better. It's just the new suit... Well, it's nothing, Mr. Stark. It's-It's perfect. Thank you,” the spider-kid said. Who the hell was this guy? You peered at him. He was young like you, clearly nervous, and enhanced. You should’ve liked him.

But he was on the wrong team.

“Yeah, we don't really need to start a conversation,” Tony said.

“Okay. Cap... Captain. Big fan, I'm Spider-Man,” he said with a salute. “Hi, Y/N. I’ve seen your work too. You’re a good fighter.”

“Thanks…?” you said as you perched an eyebrow up at the stranger, beyond confused why he insisted on having a conversation before a fight.

“Yeah, we'll talk about it later. Just…” Tony said, trying to calm the nervous kid.

“Hey, everyone,” he greeted with a small wave and you couldn’t help that your head tilted. You were nervous, anxious even, but his level of nervousness was beyond comprehension. Unless...he’d never been in a fight like this...That could be an advantage.

“Good job,” Tony commended.

Steve nodded his head. “You’ve been busy,” he noted.

“And you've been a complete idiot. Both of you. Dragging in Clint. 'Rescuing' Wanda from a place she doesn't even want to leave, a safe place,” Tony snapped.

“Hey!” you said angrily, Tony’s attention snapping to you. You were sick of his ego getting in the way of what the fuck was happening. “Clint’s a fucking adult, he could’ve said no,” you stated. “And why would anyone want to be chained to some place, Tony? How is keeping her locked up okay?”

“Because I'm trying to keep... I'm trying to keep you two from tearing the Avengers apart,” he responded, his voice breaking. You knew this had to be hard...but he wasn’t seeing the big picture.

“Us? You did that when you signed,” you said evenly, your eyes steeling on him.  

“Alright, we're done,” Tony said angrily. “You're gonna turn Barnes over, you're gonna come with us. NOW! Because it's us! Or a squad of J-SOC guys... with no compunction about being impolite.”

“You think that makes it okay?” you asked. “Tony that makes it worse,” you informed, a hint of sorrow in your voice, it broke on the last word. “You chose to take the government’s side over us. Just knowing that you’re even willing to arrest us...makes it that much worse. You’re siding with the government instead of listening to us first.”

“Because there’s nothing to talk about, Y/N. Don’t you get that? I don’t know what Cap and Barnes twisted up in your mind, but you don’t have to do this. You can still be on the winning side,” he said.

“Right, because winning is what matters to you, not being on the right side. Just whoever comes out ahead, right?”

Sam informed all of you that he found the quinjet. Immediately, you both raised your hands and Clint’s trusty arrows didn’t miss their mark. They broke the webbing and you were free.

“Alright, Lang,” Steve commanded. At that, Scott enlarged from the size of an ant, to his normal size, kicking back Spider-Man and taking the shield.

“I believe this is yours, Captain America,” he stated like a good soldier as he handed the shield back. You leaned forward to glance at him and smile and he nodded to you.

Stark found Clint and Wanda and headed for them as Rhodes found Bucky and Sam inside the airport. Cap threw his shield to deter Rhodes but T’Challa headed straight for Bucky and Sam.

“Barnes is mine!” T’Challa growled as he took off.

“Think again, kitty cat,” you said under your breath as your sights set on him.

This time, you were ready. No anxiety. No nerves. No fear.

You ran after T’Challa, wrapped your arm around his waist from behind, and hurled him to the ground. He threw you off before he rolled to stand up.

“Move, Y/N. I won’t ask a second time,” he ordered, as if it was supposed to intimidate you.

You moved into a fighting position and curled your hand to entice him. “Bring it on, hello kitty,” you challenged.

He jumped into the air and kicked at your face but you dodged it. You formed a lasso, wrapped it around his ankle, and yanked, fucking up his aerial movement so that he slammed into the ground. When he landed, he swiped your leg out from under you but you landed on your hands and back flipped into a standing position.

“You’ve been training,” he noted in almost an impressed voice. “Last time we fought, you weren’t quite this agile.”

“I just needed a reminder of what I was fighting for,” you said as you kicked up at him but he dodged it before punching at you. You formed a baton and began to smack at him, getting in a hit here or there before grabbed it and yanked, making the object disappear.

He continued to swipe, claw, and bat at you, but you dodged him. You wanted to look inside the airport to check on Bucky and Sam, to chance a look, but you knew doing so would give T’Challa an advantage and you couldn’t afford that right now. Finally, you got more of an upper hand as you flipped midair to kick T’Challa, knocking him back a few feet. It felt good to finally seem like an asset to the team.

At that opening, you ran away from him and out onto the runway, meeting back up with your team, breathing a sigh of utter relief when you saw Bucky wasn’t hurt in any way. Your legs were carrying you all rather quickly, until a beam of energy shot at the pavement in front of you, stopping your team from going forward.

“Captain Rogers,” Vision called out as he hovered in the air. “I know you believe what you’re doing is right, but for the collective good, you must surrender now.”

The rest of Tony’s team formed up underneath Vision.

“What do we do, Steve?” you asked, peering ahead at your friends...your family. You didn’t want to fight them. The people you lived with, trained with, fought with, laid your life on the line for. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. You fight together, to keep the bad guys out of power...You don’t fight each other to keep each other out of the way…

You didn’t want to see anyone hurt anyone. Not just you, but Clint and Nat, Vision and Wanda. Sam and Rhodes. Steve and Tony. These were bridges of friendships that were about to be obliterated.

Before you, stood all of your loved ones. Literally all of them. there was no one else in the world you cared for like the Avengers. You never had a real home, real family, real friends, until them...And now you were going to get into a bloody, knock out, drag out, fight….because they’re egos mattered more than your friendship. Because being on the winning team mattered more than doing the right thing.

Steve started the march and you all followed suit. Soon, it turned into a jog, and then, those that could fly on each team, took off. You formed a glider and glided forward, ducking as T’Challa swiped his entire arm at you. You bent backwards as if you were doing limbo, and his hit landed on Bucky.

Enraged you turned around, and formed a baton and tried your damnedest to hit him off of Bucky but your impacts weren’t affecting him.

Vibranium suit….vibranium suit...it’s impenetrable but, it’s not immovable…

You formed a cord, jumped up on T’Challa’s back, wrapped the cord around his neck, and yanked. Finally, he responded. His body toppled backwards as Bucky stood up and got better footing and leverage. You ducked as Bucky went to land a punch square to T’Challa’s jaw knocking him onto his back but he flipped up and was upright again. They both started to hit and dodge until they got each other in choke locks.

“I didn’t kill your father,” Bucky informed as he stared at him.

“Then why did you run?” he accused. Bucky pulled his arm back and they started to fight again until you formed a long baton and knocked T’Challa’s legs out from under him.

“Are you serious right now?” you asked as you fought him. “Because you fucking landed on him on a rooftop and proceeded to attack him with razor claws. Who wouldn’t run from that?”

He moved around you and got you in a headlock. Now fear was setting in. Your panicked eyes flashed to Bucky’s, his face and eyes mirrored yours.

“Let her go,” Bucky commanded.

“Or you will do what?” T’Challa questioned.

You took the moment of distraction and flipped T’Challa over your shoulder and onto his back.

“She’ll do that,” Bucky said as he stood over T’Challa. But he hopped up, spun and kicked you hard into a packing crate. A sharp pain lashed across your spine. Along side you flew Bucky, landing roughly on his front side. T’Challa was there in an instant, his hand and claws near Bucky’s throat, but Wanda managed to manifest her magic and throw him far away from you two.

“Buck!” you said in a wheeze, still recovering from the impact. “Are you okay?” you asked as you crawled over to him and put your hands on his face.

“I’m fine. You worry too much about a guy who’s practically invincible,” he said with a smirk.

“And you worry to little about yourself who’s still mortal,” you reminded. You and Bucky got up and ran to take cover against some luggage handling vehicle as Steve stood next to a case of stairs.

“We’ve got to go. That guy's probably in Siberia by now,” Bucky stated.

“We gotta take out the flyers,” Steve stated.

“No, you get to the jet. The three of you. The rest of us aren’t getting out of here,” Sam responded back.

“As much as I hate to admit it, to win this one, some of us might have to lose it,” Clint said and you felt your heart ache at his words. The idea of any of them getting hurt was physically torturous to you.

“This isn’t the real fight, Steve,” Sam reminded.

“Alright, Sam, what’s the play?” Steve asked as you and Bucky stared at your friend.

“We need a diversion,” he said. “Something big.”

Just as you were about to offer to be one, even though it would kill you to be away from STeve and Bucky, Scott stated he had something big he could try. He said to run on his signal and to not worry if he tore himself in half.

“What? In half?” you said curiously.

“He’s gonna tear himself in half?”  Bucky asked, looking at you two.

“You sure about this, Scott?”

“I do it all the time. Well once… in a lab...and I passed out.”

You heard something strange, like rumbling or a thud, and felt the ground shake so you turned around to see a giant Scott towering over everyone.

“I guess that’s the signal,” Steve said, amazed and surprised.

“Ya think?” you asked as you all started to run like bats out of hell. You formed your glider for better speed, knowing you couldn’t trip if you were hovering. You were almost to the quinjet, it was in sight, it was so close. You just had to get there and take off...It would be just a matter of moments before...Vision fucked it all up.

Just as you were almost there, he cut the tower next to the hanger and it began falling but Wanda caught it and was doing her best to keep it afloat. You manifested a giant shield that went out like a wide umbrella over you, Steve, and Bucky, in case she couldn’t hold it. Something must’ve stopped her, because the tower came crashing down right on top of all of you, but your speed and shield helped pull you through the debris and falling rubble.

Only to find that Natasha was standing there, guarding the jet.

“You’re not gonna stop,” she stated as if she already knew the answer.

“You know I can’t,” Steve remarked.

“I’m gonna regret this,” she said as she moved her arm to point slightly beside Steve. You thought she was going to hit Bucky, but when her taser sticky grenade landed on T’Challa, your surprised face spun back to her. “Go,” she commanded softly. You three ran to the jet as fast as you could.

All of you hurled yourself inside as you buckled in and Steve took off into the air. He pushed the jet as far as it would go to get away from Tony and Rhodes.

[mintyoongiskookie]

not what you needed.

Member: Min Yoongi

Genre: Angst(of course), fluff?? Kinda??? Badboy!Yoongi, soulmate!au

Word Count: 2,666

A/N: Tbh there will be a lot of Yoongi and Kook fics, bc their by bias and bias wrecker, and I feel a bit more confident writing with them. (And my writings kinda fit their “personalities”, since y’all know my stories ain’t all sunshine and fluffy unicorns and rainbows.) The thing with this au is that instead of your soulmate’s first words spoken to you, it’s their last so you’ll never know if they were the one until you loose them. SO THIS MEANS MORE ANGST YAYYYY THERE WILL BE A FUCK TON OF THIS TOO!!!!! And this also means I’m still not doing the ones I said I would. Great. AND I’M STILL DOWN FOR YOUR GUYS’ REQUESTS!!!!

      Song I based this off of here. (EDEN - drugs)

      Those three words. Those three words that tortured you. Those three words that were etched into your skin, the ink drowned out by the other paintings all across your body. Those three words that follow you everywhere, reminding you that any love you have, might not be the one.

      Just let go.

      They were lost in the other tattoos on your body, but it was still there. On the right side of your neck, next to the image of a band-aid. Everyone else’s were, “I love you”, or, “Never forget me, okay?”. But not yours. It looked like everyone watched you, pitiful eyes staring at those three little words. So you stayed away from people, living a carefree life, trying to forget how cursed you were to society. You knew your own words were placed on someone’s body, dragging them down with you. You followed you own path, ignoring everyone’s comments on how sorry they were. Don’t be fucking sorry, live your own picture perfect life, with your two kids and white picket fence. I’m not letting three words control what I do.

      If only you knew that made it worse.

      It was the first day of winter break for college, and for the people staying here, there was a party being thrown. You lived on the other side of the country and, quite frankly, hated your family. They always set these low standards for you, all because of those damn words. How do they know you won’t live happily ever after? So, you moved as soon as you could. Got into a nice college, met some nice people, and got a nice job. All is going well, and you honestly don’t listen to the commentary you get.

      You headed over to the frat with your friends, Hoseok and Namjoon, walking down the middle of the streets with them. Coming up to the building, the bass was beating through the walls, drunks already fucking around on the front lawn. There were colored lights flooding through the windows, silhouettes of jumping bodies visible from your placement on the street. Sharing a look with the both of your friends, you lead the way inside of the cramped building. Weaving past people, you made your way up the stairs to the balcony. There was your friend, Seokjin, having an uncomfortable conversation with a drunk girl. His head shot up to look at you three, his lips moving to form the words, “please, get this bitch off me.”

      “Seokjin! There you are. We’ve been looking for you.” Namjoon said, leading your group up and shoving past the girl pressing against your friend. Stumbling back, the girl clumsily disappeared down the stairs.

      “I honestly don’t see how you always get yourself caught up with girls.” You say, sipping from a cup you picked up along the way.

      He scoffs, leaning against the wall. “Neither do I…” Seokjin was your old friend, who’s already out of school. He’s working for a model industry, and always gets dragged back to the college parties by a majority of the classes. He’s a pop, but a sweet one. You’ve always admired him for who he really is.

      Two hours and three beers pass, and the bodies around you are finally calming down. Or passing out. You didn’t really care to notice. Because you eyes had been locked with that of a stranger’s. A stranger with a head of blonde hair, and piercings everywhere that glimmered in the flashing lights. A stranger with an ice cold stare, but a smirk placed on his pale pink lips. A stranger with tattoos crawling up his neck, spreading over his knuckles, which are scarred red. Fights, you presume.

      “Bad choice, (Y/N).” Looking up to see Seokjin’s eyes casting to the man you were looking at, you glanced back to where he previously was. He was already gone. “You know when the party got suddenly silent? That’s ‘cuz he got here. Min Yoongi. He’s dangerous (Y/N), watch out for him. He won’t stop if he’s got his eyes on you.”

       Staring at the empty space, you tilted your head. “What’s his mark?”

      “No one knows.” With a sigh, he pats you on the shoulder and gives you a worried look. “Just… Don’t do anything crazy, okay?” As you nodded, he smiled and slithered off through the crowd to get another bottle.

      By three A.M, you decided you should head home. Walking down the sidewalks, you tightened your grip around your leather jacket. You didn’t live in a bad part of town, you could say, but all parts were bad at this time. The roaring of engines passed you, cars speeding down the empty streets, racing as fast as their modified engines could go. You had watched some street races, but it wasn’t any fun unless you were in the driver’s seat. All known from personal experience.

      “I guess I expected you to be in one of the cars. Well, I must say, you’re full of surprises.” Whipping your head around, you were met with those same dark eyes. It was him.

      “And I thought you would be shoving your tongue down a girl’s throat.” Turning on your heel, you heard a deep, gravely laugh come from him. His footsteps followed you as you walked, the heavy sound irritating you. Sucking in a breath, you turned and grabbed him by the front of his jacket. “Look darling, I suggest you stop following me before I stick a knife in your gut.”

      He let out a breathy chuckle, closing his eyes and holding his hands up in defense. “I’m helping you, darling. I’m making sure no one rapes you.” He pulled himself from your grasp, motioning for you to go forward. “But if you insist, I’ll head home now. Goodbye (Y/N).” His smirk made a presence again, and he turned and walked the other direction.

      You never told him your name.

      By the time spring rolled around, you had ran into Yoongi many more times than planned. Upon further inspection, you found out that he was a well known senior, a music major. His parents were killed when he was young, and he lived on the streets for a while. Someone rich found him, heard his music, and got hooked. Hence his ability to get into a nice college. He was a player, breaking girls’ and boys’ hearts for years. And yet he’s still got one of the biggest reputations on campus.

      It was a dark, rainy day when you encountered him. The day where everything had changed. You two had somehow got this whole, “I hate you but I don’t, so come over for pizza but you’re paying” relationship going. He had told you to meet at a cafe with him, for your daily arguments to wake the both of you up. Today’s topic was… Unusual.

      “What if we’re soulmates?” His proclamation caused you to spit out your black coffee, the liquid dripping down your chin.

      “There’s no way in hell that I would ever get with you.” He laughs, that rare and beautiful smile spreading over his features.

      “So you’re saying that the times where we made out in the corner of kitchens at parties, and those times where I fucked you, were all accidents?”

      Fuck. He got you there. Nothing had really changed, no dates or anything, you two were basically friends with benefits. There was always the occasional flings with each other, and the drunk kisses at parties, because hey there’s a creep over there staring at me we’re gonna kiss now. Well, at least that’s your excuse. It’s usually because you just wanna kiss him. “Fuck yourself and die in a hole.”

      He laughs again, his smirk clear on his face even from behind his cup. “What ever you say darling. What I’m saying, is that normal people still wouldn’t be talking to each other. You threatened to fucking stab me when we first met. If that doesn’t scare someone off, I don’t know what would.”

      “It’s probably just because we’re both ignorant assholes who hate everyone here. Except for a few people.”

      “Just let me prove my point!” You laughed, and leaned back, nodding for him to continue. “I’m just saying, that if I was any normal person that night, I would’ve said the words on your neck. But I didn’t. Make sense?”

      You knew that was definitely a possibility, you just didn’t want to believe it. Him? You told yourself that there was no way, even if he was hot and really sweet to you. Well, sweet in his own way. “Sure babe. Totally.”

      Totally was right.

       Once you both finished at the cafe, he walked with you around town.  You were someone who loved the rain, so you ran out and danced in the downpour while Yoongi was dragging his feet behind you. Which ended with him hugging you when you refused to stay under the umbrella

      “Yoongi, what the hell are you doing…” 

      He laughed, the sound vibrating against you, the feeling sending shivers down your spine. “I’m making sure you don’t get sick. Or too wet. Because that’s my job.” You roll your eyes and he laughed, a quiet, pervert slipping your lips. He took you to hang out at his apartment for some movies, and for you to possibly kidnap Holly again. In your defense, you didn’t know that the little pup was sleeping in your bag as you left last time. Let’s just say Yoongi didn’t talk to you for a week after that incident.

      Throwing open the door to his apartment, you kicked off your soaked shoes and fell onto his couch. “Get your soggy ass off of my couch and go change into one of my shirts, I’m not washing those damn cushions again.” He kicks you off of the couch, your frame landing face first on the carpet. Sighing, you heaved yourself up and walked down the hall to his room to find something. Opening the door, you were met with an eager Holly jumping all over you.

      “AHHH HI BABYYYY I MISSED YOU!!!!!” Leaving kisses all over her face, you ruffled her fur and went to find your favorite shirt of his in his closet. You changed into an old ripped up and bleached black shirt, and walked back out to where he was seated. He looked up at you from the TV and rolled his eyes, sitting up so there’s room on his lap for you. 

      “I give you the chance to change into my clothes, and you pick something like that?” Sitting on his lap, you made sure to drop onto him hard enough to hurt him, dick or not.

      Laughing at his strangled yelp, you squirmed and made yourself comfortable, curling up under the blanket spread over top of you both. “You have no right to critique me on my fashion sense. Almost everything you own is ripped.” Looking back at the screen, you both watched The Corpse bride on Netflix before dozing off in his arms. You couldn’t help but notice the way your heart tugged when he would subtly compliment you, or the heat that rose throughout your body from that night on. You had fallen in love with Min Yoongi.

      Four years later, you two had been dating and took the world by surprise. Scratch that, universe. You found yourself thinking more and more about his mark, that was probably effecting you more than him. I can’t love myself if I can’t love you.

      You found out that those words weren’t really the tattoo he told everyone about, but in fact, his mark. You really hoped that he wasn’t your soulmate now, just so that you wouldn’t have to think of hurting him in that way. You played out every scenario in your mind, thinking of how or why either of you would use those phrases in an argument that could lead to no words ever being spoken between you two again.

      You didn’t plan out that it would happen today. Today was one of those days, where you pushed anything bad out of your mind and just focused on the tasks  at hand. It was one of those days where the memory of both of your marks was completely stripped clean.

      You had made some dinner for him, the delicious smell filling up the entirety of your shared apartment. You knew how hard he had been working at his studio, the process draining all energy from his body. As soon as you finished, you plated everything and went to go sit on the steps outside. You had tamed a few strays, so you sat there, playing with the slim and scrawny cats, feeding them some old scraps. Next time you check, it’s midnight. Where is he…? You thought, your eyes looking around the streets in front of you. There, you saw the figure of a tired man, trudging his way home. The figure of the man you called yours.

      Standing, you jogged over to him, a worried smile on your lips. “Hey baby… Come in, we’ll get you relaxed.” Walking straight past you, he didn’t bother to even spare you a glance. You knew something was up; he never did that. Following him, you lightly placed your hand on his shoulder, only to have it shoved off.

      “Don’t fucking touch me.” His voice was dangerously low, the sound striking your body with panic. And, of course, you just had to argue. Because that’s what the two of you did.

      “What the actual fuck, Yoongi? What’s wrong?”

      “You, (Y/N), you’re what’s wrong. Your always being super distant one second, and then clinging onto me for your damn life. You don’t know how to let go, you think that this needs to work. And, in all honestly, I’m just saying what I need to say. Because I don’t have anything for you.” His voice falls at the end, cracks spreading over his words like wildfire. His eyes show his torn heart, they show how it cracks, the pieces just slipping through your fingers. You weren’t fast enough.

      “Yoongi-”

      “Stop, (Y/N), don’t try.”

      “Yoongi, without you I’m fucking nothing. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you were gone, I just need you happy. I know it sounds selfish, but I need you to love. I can’t love myself if I can’t love you.” Tears were streaming down your cheeks, your chest ablaze from holding back your sobs.

      “This isn’t you, and you know it. I won’t say shit, because I know I’m a mess. And I’m whatever you want, but never what you need. Especially when you need me. So, please (Y/N)… Just let go.” He didn’t even look at you as he turned, heading to cross the street. You realized the last words you two had shared, desperate to change them. But no one can rewrite fate.

      Your voice ripped through the air, the call of his name loud enough to shatter glass. But you were too late.

      Again.

      The sound of his body being thrown against a windshield cracked through the sounds of squealing rubber. Your eyes were locked with a stranger’s, a stranger of whom you loved, laying lifelessly on the road, blood coloring over his pale skin. A stranger who’s head of bleached blonde hair was slowly reddening. A stranger with piercing covered with a crimson red liquid. A stranger who’s pale pink lips were slowly loosing color, as scarlet fell from them and pooled onto the ground. Your eyes were locked with that of a stranger’s, who’s glassy eyes were staring out at you as a singular tear dripped into a puddle of blood forming just underneath his head.

      The stranger you once knew was dead.

[asriels]

colour me curious, i really want to know what lily meant that james would understand it the best. what can you tell us about james sirius??

Depending on who you talk to, James Potter is a whirlwind orJames Potter is the devil or James Potter is just a sad and misunderstood youngman. Nobody seems sure of anything apart from his cool. That he’s got naileddown. The tattoos, all barbs and claws and hooks. The leather jacket, worn andjust the right amount of snug around his shoulders. The girls, trailing in hiswake like petals on the wind.

Everybody thinks they know him and nobody has a clue at all.

“You want to talk about it?” says Teddy one night when hefinds James wild-eyed in Camden, shivering out of his skin.

“Nah,” lies James, and lets his best friend Asta tug himback into the party.

The thing about James is that he lets everything get to him.Lily’s accused him of this a million times. He lets the expectations weigh himdown. He plays Quidditch because of course he’d play Quidditch, he’s GinnyWeasley’s son. He cheeks teacher in school because of he’d cheek teachers, he’sJames Potter’s grandson. He gets into trouble because of course he’d get intotrouble, he’s Harry Potter’s firstborn. The eldest. The one.

“Who are you?” Lily demands of him when she’s fourteen andhe’s seventeen, her hands on her hips and her skinny frame blocking the doorwayso he couldn’t escape if he tried. “Who do you even want to be, James?”

“This,” lies James, tugging on his jacket. “This is me.”

Lily loves him but she doesn’t get it. She could never getit. What they say about her bounces off her, slides away like water off grease.But it sticks to James. It sticks so strongly he can feel it trailing aroundafter him.

People think they can say what they like. They think hedoesn’t care. And James makes them think he doesn’t: laughs at insults, answerssmears on his sister’s honours with his fists, goes out and parties harderevery time some magazine says that he parties too much. People say, “you don’tdeserve to be Harry Potter’s son. He deserves better than this,” and Jamesrolls his eyes and lights another cigarette.

His brother Albus nurses grudges, cooks them up deep andslow inside his chest. James nurtures the hurts. Every single tiny thing anyonehas ever said to him, nailed up on the walls of a secret room beneath his ribs.He feels them flutter every time he takes a breath.

“Talk about it,” demands Dominique one night in Edinburghwhen they’re drowsy with marijuana, leaning into each other on her sofa. “Ifnot to me, then to someone.”

“Nothing to talk about,” lies James, and gestures for theblunt. “Pass me that.”

Three days later in a pub, Aaron Jordan finds him and claimsthe seat beside him.

“Is it true you’re Jemima Peakes’ baby daddy? She says youare.”

James blinks. He remembers Jemima. He remembers her beingdefinitely pregnant the first time they slept together.

“No chance.” James’ best friend is there. She’s scornful,bored already. It makes Aaron shift in his seat. Asta has that effect onpeople. “Didn’t she have the kid, like, a month ago?”

Aaron tries not to quail under the weight of her disdain.She’s got her hair pulled back into two tight braids, and it makes her eyeslook wider and deadlier than usual.

“Could be mine,” says James lazily. He’s not in the mood fora fight. And what does it matter, anyway? An illegitimate kid at nineteen isexactly the sort of thing the papers will love—and who is James to deny themextra sales?

These are the sorts of lies he likes to tell himself.

“No way,” replies Asta. She glares at Aaron like it’s hisfault. “She was three months gone by the time she and James fucked. Unlessthere’s some freaky Voldemort magic shit going on there, the baby’s someoneelse’s. Hardly a surprise, really.”

“Easy, Nott.” James slings an arm around her shoulders. “We’rehardly in the position to judge someone for getting around.”

“You’re not, maybe,” sniffs Asta, who’s been holding ontoher virginity in the hopes of getting alone time with Quidditch star Hawkley.

“Fine,” concedes James, and gets up for another pint.

The next day, Accio!runs a headline about an unnamed girl lying about her baby’s paternity to tryto claim grandchild support off wizarding hero Harry Potter. Online, thearticle gets 300 comments in two days ripping her apart for trying. Jemimawithdraws the claims after that. James can’t admit to being relieved.

Comments sections don’t usually work in his favour.

Anyway, the headlines change two months later when Jamesgets photographed punching Faolan McLaggen in the face at a nightclub in Soho.

“You arsehole,” says Asta, examining his mangled knuckleswith contempt. “Pick a fight with someone built less like a bulldozer nexttime.”

James feels his pride prickle. “It wasn’t a fight. I knocked him cold.”

Teddy makes him go and apologise. It takes him six solidweeks of guilt-tripping and bribery, but eventually he manages to drag James tothe McLaggens’ family farm in County Fermanagh, Northern Ireland.

Predictably, Faolan’s fit sister opens the door. James istoo gloomy about having to say sorry that Teddy manages to start flirtingfirst, which just puts a further damper on the whole day.

“Heard you’re into hardcore drugs, now?” asks the sister,whose name James wasn’t paying attention to. “Was the fighting and drinking notenough?”

James just shrugs. There’s no point arguing. People salivateat the prospect of believing the worst of him. Everybody just loves that Harry Potter’s son is such adisaster.

“Look, let’s just go,” he says to Teddy.

And then this guy walks in. He’s solid, ephemeral, beautifuland fair as a unicorn. James’ entire stomach twists up into a knot.

“This is Eirnin,” says the sister, “my brother. Think he wasthe year below you, Potter?”

James is well-practised at disinterest. He nods, once, atEirnin, and turns away.

They meet again at a polo tournament. He’s dragged Astaalong, because this is exactly the kind of snobby and homicidal pureblood sportshe’s into, and she’s spent the entire match complaining that he’s watching thesidelines instead of the game.

“What are you even lookingat?” she demands, and follows his line of sight. She stops when she findsEirnin, shirtless and glazed with sweat, frantically rubbing down one of hisfather’s kelpies as it comes off the field.

“Oh,” she says, and then turns to James. Her eyes bug out. “Oh.”

James doesn’t say anything at all.

What develops with Eirnin—it isn’t easy. James has neverbeen vulnerable about another person before but he just…can’t help it. Eirninis steady as ice and generous as a saint. But he’s also Catholic—really Catholic—and James is somehow relieved to discover that Eirnin is more worried about him being a guy thanabout him being James Potter, with all the baggage that entails.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Eirnin whispers one night,his mouth against James’ neck. “I just—”

James digs his fingers in to the soft tanned skin of Eirnin’sback. “I don’t know either.” Beat. “But let’s do it anyway.”

He feels Eirnin smile against his throat.

It still isn’t easy, even after that.

But it’s better.