#i like the idea that when they touch they sizzle and steam and turn hard like volcanic rock

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

Harry was like the dark rain at the end of summer.

He rolled in like storm clouds on the horizon, a bright blue sky that faded slowly, then all at once to a dull dark grey. Harry walked into every room with a shade around him, dimming all the lights until he was the brightest source—a flash in the darkest dark—twisting, jagged just like that scar across his forehead.

Tom knew it the minute he laid his eyes on him, the moment that smell of ozone crept by, wafting and humid, sticking to him like a second skin.

[noceurous]

take the heat away, make the girl stay

your boyfriend is always capable of finding solutions to anything, including heatwaves

warnings: cursing, mention of kids, i’d say dilf!dave but he is already a dad, possessive!dave, some ice play, smut (18+), p in v, fingering, usage of various nicknames (honey, darling, baby), daddy kink, praise kink, some cumplay, this is basically little plot big smut

a/n: this is my entrance to #hotdilfsummerchallenge by @hellishjoel (thank you so much kylee for this amazing challenge it really inspired me). it's also my protest against this heat and humidity on where i live. as always reblogs/comments are always appreciated.

You huffed, annoyed from the heat. Constantly tossing and turning on the couch. It felt like hands made out of fire and hot steam were constantly caressing your body.

You got up, heading to the fridge. You needed something, anything, cold to keep you sane. You smiled when the cold air from fridge hit your face when you opened its door.

The picture Dave’s kids drew were decorating the fridge. You loved when he went on full dad mode sometimes, buying fruit and veggies even snacks rich in fibers whenever his kids came to stay at his place. He cared about their classes and high school gossip, used his sources to track their potential boyfriends.

And no, they didn’t have a clue about their caring father was dating a girl who was closer to them in age wise. He knew Carol would have a hard time to keep her mouth shut about you, filling girls’ heads with wrong ideas. He was waiting for the best moment to open up to them first. That’s why the pictures you two had were either on his phone or in your place.

You took out a glass, filling it with ice, and pouring soda over it. The sizzles and bubbling noise made you feel better already. Pressing the cold glass on your cheek, whimpering at the feeling. You could feel sweat moving down between your breasts and your back. The coldness of the glass made you realize how hot your body was.

You heard your boyfriend’s voice as he entered the room, turning your body towards him. “Honey did you see my t—“ He stopped talking when he saw you.

Leaning over on his counter in your underwear and a small tank top, pressing a glass to your cheek. Your body was glistening with sweat.

“I didn’t see anything.” You said, checking him out as he did to you. He had just gotten out of shower, water droplets still dripping from his hair. Clean shaven as always. Lack of facial hair brought out his lips and cheeks, which you loved to wander on with your lips.

“Too hot?” He raised an eyebrow, doing the best he could to save your look in his memory. In small amount of fabric and shining like a goddess.

“I think I have just passed out and woken up again by the heat. We need to buy a new ceiling fan.” You said, pressing the glass on your other cheek.

“What’s wrong with the old one?” He asked, resting his hip on the kitchen counter, watching the sweat drops move down from your sternum disappearing inside your top. The need to touch you became more persistent.

“It’s about to die.” You explained after you pressed the glass on your forehead, trying to cool down your body before drinking your soda.

“Okay. I will take care of it.” He nodded, taking a mental note. Slowly leaning to give you a kiss but stopped when you placed your hand on his chest.

“It’s too hot.”

“Even to kiss you?”

“Even to stand near me.”

He looked you up and down, looking for a sign of doubt after you denied him. “Is this because I had to cancel our trip to Hawaii?”

“Maybe.” You shrugged taking a sip from your still cold drink. Your brain almost froze with your overuse of ice but you tried to play it cool. Freezing seemed much better than boiling.

“Darling, trust me there is not even one cell I have that does not want to take you to Hawaii. It’s just some idiot messed up something important and I need to clean after him. Promise, I will take you there after I’m done with this. Kids are still with Carol, we still have time.”

You rolled your eyes, finishing up the rest of your drink. Dave made plans to spend the last two weeks of summer with the girls in his cabin, and of course you’d be staying here watering his imaginary plants. You had no right to bitch about how good he was as a father, when he made you this wet by being so.

He leant down to kiss you again, but you scoffed away. He groaned, placed his arm on your waist, pulling you closer to him to smash his lips on yours. You sighed when you felt his lukewarm body pressed against yours. You quickly gave into the kiss, he was too good of a kisser for you to push him away.

He placed your glass on the counter, dipped his fingers in to take out the ice. You watched water droplets slide down his long fingers, just before he placed the ice where your shoulder met your neck.

You hissed at the cold feeling on your skin, moving your head to the side to give him more access. “See, that’s better right?”

“Yeah.” You mumbled, watching his gaze fixated on your neck. “I think I can kiss you there now too, no more blaming it on the heat.” He leant over you, tongue tracing along the wet trail where the ice left.

You felt your knees get weaker as his tongue moved on your body, the wetness pooling in your underwear became more prominent. “D—dave.” You said, hands went to his belt of the bathrobe.

“Try again, darling. Who is making you feel good?” He said as he swiped the ice across your collarbones, following the trail with wet kisses, sucking down on the last spot.

“D—daddy!” You exclaimed, unwrapping his bathrobe, letting it show his glory.

“That’s right. Do you want Daddy to make you feel better? Make the heat go away?” He placed his forefinger under your chin, tucking it up for you to look at his eyes.

The familiar warmth of brown of his pupils left its place to hungry darkness, waiting for your permission to go on.

“Yes.” He motioned you to the kitchen counter. Palm tapping on the very expensive white marble.

“Hop on.” He said as he helped you sit on the counter, standing between your legs.

His gaze was dropped down to your chest, seeing your nipples perked up through thin fabric. He licked his lips, watching you wiggle on the counter. “Take off your top for me.” He ordered and watched you obey just the second he finished talking.

He moved the half melted ice to his mouth, placing it between his lips as he placed his hands on you. Your body shivered at the cold contact of his fingers, wanting more. He gently pushed you down on the counter, watching your body jolt with the cold stone.

His lips moved across your naked chest, moving south from the hickey he just gave you. He circled it around your nipples, watching them perk up against the cold. You looked like a statue he carved to himself lying under him, all pretty just for his eyes.

When the ice melted down to a tiny indecisive shape, he swallowed it. His lips and tongue were cold enough to give you shivers when he pressed a kiss above your belly button. “Mine.” He murmured, taking another ice from your glass between his lips. Droplets mixed with water and soda dropping on his floor.

His tidy mind was too focused on you lying needy in front of him. He threw it inside his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. He placed it back between his lips, kneeling in to move the ice along your thighs. His hands were placed on the back of your calves, gently separating your legs. He smiled when he saw the large wet patch on your underwear, leaning closer to trace the ice along your inner thighs, wanting to see your reaction.

“Oh!” You held your breath, feeling the cold between your legs. Your eyes fluttered, your clit throbbing inside your panties. You bit down on your lower lip when you looked up and saw his cock; in a dark shade of red, looked like it hurt him.

You licked your lips at the sight, wanting to touch him, feel him. When you tried to move your hand to him, he held your hand, placing it next to your head. “What do you want?” He said, moving the ice on your lower belly. Watching the cotton soak up the droplets.

“I want you.”

“You already have me darling. You need to be more precise.” He said as he moved the ice higher; from your hips to your belly, then to your sternum, missing your breasts and your needy swollen nipples on purpose.

“I want you to fuck me until I’m no longer bothered by heat.” He smiled, pressing the ice on your lips.

“Open.” He pushed the ice between your lips, feeling himself throb when he saw how you took the ice between your lips.

He cupped your pussy, before dipping inside. Fingers tracing along your slit. You moaned. “Fuck, you are so wet baby. And so hot, what will I do with you?” You wanted to open your mouth but his gaze on you was a warning enough.

He collected your slick from your slit, pressing his finger tip on your clit. “Oh, Daddy!” You moaned, tugging down on his hand holding yours. His finger circled around your entrance, pushing his finger inside. You moaned under him, feeling the coldness left from the ice.

“So tight, so warm…” A whimper left your mouth when his finger curled inside you. “That’s my good girl, so responsive.” He kissed your temple, pushing another finger inside you.

“Fuck!” He chuckled, fastening his fingers as his other hand held your wrist tightly. Still surprised with the way you clamped down on his fingers, small whimpers leaving your lovely lips and eyes flashed open with pleasure. Small frown between your eyebrows from the pleasure.

You came down around his fingers, chest moving up and down quickly. He pressed a quick kiss on your neck, pulling out his fingers.

He sucked down on his middle finger. “Taste so good, better than anything you can imagine.” You felt yourself flutter, as he raised you back on your feet.

“Take off your robe.” You protested, lips still felt numb from the ice. You pushed the soft material down his shoulders, making him stand naked as you did. You looked down when it fell to ground with a thud. Feeling victory when you saw his aching cock; tip glistening with precum.

You kissed on his neck, taking in the scent of his shower gel, pine and something more bitter. His body shivered slightly to press of your cold lips. You kissed along his shoulder and chest, as he wrapped your leg around his waist. His cock aligned perfectly to your entrance with your angle.

Before a sound could leave your mouth, he pressed his lips to yours, taking in your whimpers and moans as he pushed himself into you. He bit down your lip when your warmness surrounded him, groaning against your cold lips as he started moving inside you.

You placed your arms around his neck, fingers tangling around his locks. You could taste yourself on his lips and tongue. “Shit, you’re so big.” You whispered between kisses, nails scratching the back of his head.

He nudged your nose with his. His large hands pushed your body closer to him. Feeling the heat radiating from the space between your legs. Perfectly pressed on his groin.

You were looking at him, head dizzy with pleasure, eyes were locked into his. Your breasts were pressed onto his chest. “You’re a sight, aren’t you?” Too afraid to admit to himself how precious you were to him. Afraid you’d be slipping from his fingers if he got any louder. One of those fingers had a ring mark that already faded away, he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.

“I’m your sight.” You responded, lips forming a soft smile on his, pressing a gentle kiss. You loved to be owned by him, being his and his only. Letting him take control of your mind and body when you feel overwhelmed to do it by yourself.

Now the heat was the least thing on your minds when his balls felt tighter and you felt your walls closing around him. “You’re close.” He said as his chest swollen with pride, feeling himself larger than he already was.

You nodded, breathing got quicker and you felt your silk coat your inner thighs. “Yeah.” You answered, your body moved without consulting your brain and your elbow hit your glass, knocking it down.

Pieces of glass, soda, and ice mixed all together on the floor. You didn’t care when you felt your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, almost slipping from his arms but he was holding you tightly.

“That’s my good girl, my perfect girl coming for her daddy.” His hand at the back of your neck, holding you up as his thrusts got sloppier.

He pressed his nose down at your shoulder, his teeth sinking down into your shoulder. Marking your soft skin up, his eyes closed with the pleasure. You felt his hot cum fill you up, leak from your hole to smear around your thighs.

He stayed inside you for a while, kissing you with all he got. It felt like you belonged to him, your place was between his arms. “We’re going to Hawaii tomorrow night, I’ll make some calls, and you should pack your bags.”

“Really?” You could not stop smiling, cupping his cheek to make sure this was real.

“Anything for you.” He said kissing the top of your nose.

“Then we need to take a cold shower again, after I clean up here.” He clicked his tongue on his upper palate, wrapping your tired legs around his torso.

“Shower first, cleaning up second. It's too hot.” He said as he carried you to the bathroom. You giggled as you burried your face on his neck, mentally preparing yourself for the second round.

[wroteclassicaly]

From Ashes to Pleasure

(Michael Langdon x Female Reader)

Pairings : Michael Langdon x Female reader

Warnings : Language, squirting, degrading, choking, humiliation, & rough sex.

A/N : Y’all, I honestly have no idea what this is. I felt like writing, a thought came to me, but then it all just turned into this nasty piece of filth! It’s unedited/slightly edited (because I read it over after posting, and decided I needed to come back into the post and edit a few things), it’s dirty, but I felt like my old self again when writing this! I didn’t feel stuck! So, I’m a happy girl! ^_^

Just a warning, this is porn without a plot! Michael is a total demonic daddy, he’s rude, and the sex is rough! I don’t think I’ve written Michael as this dominant before? Think of this fic as an alternate/follow-up to this fic here!! The title is just one of my random combinations, haha. Hope y’all enjoy?! ;)

~*~

You feel his fingers snake down your back ; quick and biting, almost every touch a sharp, pinching ache. He doesn’t really give you want you want, not yet. You deem yourself a Queen in his court of games, but you’re still the fool to his every wild card. Michael Langdon plays dirty by avoidance - one of his many, many talents. With an angelic face, he sees through you with demonic eyes.

You open yourself up to him and his devilish massage, uncaring if all of heaven and hell can see what you’re letting him do to you.

“You’re just like the ashes of a forgotten world,” He begins, draped like a covered kiss of sweet death over your back. “At my mercy and weak. A pitiful, steaming pile that craves to be whole again.” Is his brief finish.

You can’t deny this, shrugging a shoulder that catches on your favorite ring he possesses. “I’m only human, wouldn’t you say?” It floats from you before you can stop it. Instinct and comfort becoming one with their affair in your subconscious.

“Only humans disgust me. You disgust me,” Michael tries, knowing how ignorant that lie sounds to you both.

“If hell has an audience that watches you, they probably laughed loud enough to cause an earthquake, Michael.” You don’t stop the snort that leaves your lips.

A strong shift has you breathless and damn near floating, the room spinning from the force of the demon’s grip on you. Michael slams your nude body into the cold wall, his leather clad knee forcing your legs apart to give himself some leverage. Your head sizzles on a static overdrive, ears prickling with the blood rush that he causes by gripping your cunt so hard that you arch onto the tips of your toes.

“Do you think they’re laughing at this, Y/N? Or...” He presses in two rough fingers, stretching them to slosh your wetness. It’s embarrassing how pitifully soaked that you know you are. “Maybe this?” He twists you around to face him, your lips immediately opening for him when he presents his fingers.

You suck them clean, watching his scenic blue eyes sparkle in awed amusement.

“Perhaps they laugh at how predictable you are for the pleasure I offer you? Doesn’t that make you want to hide this beautiful pink pussy from view, so that you think they can’t see,” He stops himself, that honey hot voice lowering as his mouth nips at your earlobe. “How soaking, fucking, humiliatingly wet that you are?”

“Michael...” You’re trembling into quaking jumbles now, putty in his sinfully satanic hands.

“My disgusting human gets my cock so fucking hard. Every single time.” He’s smirking, petting your hair affectionately, this rough play continuing with a mutual rush.

“Maybe it’s humiliating that a weakling human gets a big ol’ bad all hot and bothered? Doesn’t that make you a slave to your desires too, Michael? Just like all of humanity?” You’re gaining a smart hand in your end of the court.

He isn’t expecting it, judging by the low feral groan that tumbles off his deliciously plump lips. You give a reach and steal a squeeze of his thick cock.

“You want me on bruised knees, servicing you like a hungry human? Swallowing you down with a salivating tongue? Because you’re about to fucking burst from those pants, Langdon.” You give a cocky inclination to his midsection.

He silences your sass with a firm hold on your windpipes. He uses it to drag you over to his desk, depositing your dripping form to its edge. He doesn’t make you lean back, instead letting you have the honor of watching him disrobe himself. He smacks your pussy in a scold, using what he gathers to coat his dick. Your legs are lifted to fit around his lean and muscular form, his hand finally adjusting you to rest on your back.

You let him watch you, let him choke the air from you in steals. There will marks, you know, but remain uncaring. When his hips slam against your pelvis, his balls smacking your ass, you arch to him with a gravity that’s home to you both. He meets you halfway, moments later, to indulge in a violent kiss, your teeth sinking down onto his bottom lip, licking away the coppery substance.

“Fuck, Y/N. That’s it, my human pet.” Michael is starting to shake, stamina increasing to find the finish line.

You knot your hand into his dirty blond locks, pulling so hard that you feel him swell in your cunt, coating your walls with his sticky warmth. You don’t dare move, only taking what he gives you. You need his permission to receive. He’s panting in jagged puffs of air, finally seeing you practically purring in the anticipation of your desperation. He pulls out sloppily, his cum smeared to your inner thighs as some leaks out.

He nods, helping you get onto the desk on your knees, the backs of his rings cool on your abdomen, as he holds you in place, retrieving that familiar item. Your stomach swoops in elation, eyes watering in the depths of need.

“Please, Michael.” Your voice is silk with the slick unshed tears.

Michael smacks your ass with his free hand a few times for measure, then he spreads your cheeks apart, sending you out one word to heed. “Arch.”

His hand slides with your form as you arch down, cheek pressing into the desk, Michael’s hand trapped beneath and cupping your breast, fingertips pinching your nipple. He clicks his tongue in that particular way that you know he does, and brings the leather riding crop down on your pussy. It doesn’t take much, not with his strong hand stroking and teasing your chest, his other causing hits so hard you know you won’t be able to walk or sit after this is all over. You’re screaming his name, cursing him, a dizzying array of sounds leap from your caught throat. Your vision is whiting out to those shapes you see.

It’s hazy and you’re drunk on it. You can’t even use your vocal chords, that unique twist locking your muscles down and then releasing so rapidly that you hear the squelching splash of your own release. Michael is bewildered and proud, obscenities coming from him as his approval is given, and your ears begin to ring. He lets go of you to catch you, your spent bodies sliding into the floor and next to the discarded crop. When you come back to your senses, Michael is sampling your orgasm off his fingers so vulgarly, that you want to ride him into the ground. You don’t know why, but a laugh barrels through you.

“What’s so funny?” Yet, you find that Michael is grinning too.

“Jesus, we’re crazy.” You say, snorting as you relax against him.

He raises a brow, circling your mouth with his fingertips. A Cheshire grin follows moments later. “You’re crazy. I’m the antichrist.”

[cryoaquila]

surprise breakfast

prompt; making breakfast when your two boyfriends are being needy is not an easy task.

pairings; tartaglia x kaeya x gn!reader

themes; modern au, polyam, fluff, suggestive themes, food mention.

wc; 2k

the sounds of running water stir you awake. drowsily, you blink the remaining sleep away from your eyes as you sit up with a stretch. you notice that the bed was surprisingly empty as you were used to waking up next to your boyfriends who were always ready to snuggle with you and convince you to sleep a little longer. you look towards the bathroom where the sound was coming from and you see steam escaping from the small gap at the bottom of the shut door. instead of waking you up, they must have decided to shower and leave you to get some extra shut-eye. it was such a sweet gesture to you since, lately, you haven’t been sleeping well, but now that you were awake you decide to return their kind gesture by making a surprise breakfast for the three of you. draping your legs over the side of the bed, you put on your slippers before heading to the kitchen.

you let out a small yawn as you turn the light on before grabbing a pan from the kitchen cabinet and placing it on the stovetop. you tap your foot while thinking about what to make - there were so many great options for breakfast: omelets, crepes, sunny-side-up eggs, waffles, bacon, oatmeal, your mouth was practically watering thinking about all the possibilities and, secretly, you wanted to eat it all. the shower shutting off causes you to come back to your senses. well, now that a surprise breakfast was out of the question since they’d definitely be done drying off and see what you were up to, you decide to let them choose what they want. to prepare for whatever they ask for, you begin to gather some bowls, plates, and other supplies while waiting for them.

as you grab a few extra utensils, you hear the two of them enter the kitchen. you turn around to face them, a spatula in hand, ready to grant their breakfast wishes. kaeya was, unsurprisingly, only wearing a towel around his waist while tartaglia - who was still dripping wet and hadn’t dried off properly, per usual - was dressed in just a plain shirt and underwear. “good morning! i was going to make you two a surprise breakfast, but you finished showering quicker than i thought; so instead, i was wondering if either of you have any requests for what you want to eat this morning?”

kaeya makes his request without missing a beat, “i just want the two of you for breakfast.” he wraps an arm around your waist and another arm around tartaglia’s waist before pulling you both closer to him. you grin from how cheeky he was being and from the morning kiss he gives you.

“that would be the sweetest breakfast imaginable.” tartaglia beams before also giving you a quick kiss on your cheek, but his kiss was a little wetter than kaeya’s, and you had to wipe some water droplets off your cheek.

while the request was cute, you wanted something more substantial than your boyfriends for breakfast since you were actually hungry. “c’mon, that might be too sweet for breakfast, let’s wait until dessert for that, alright? seriously now, what do you two want?”

“all we really want this morning is some hugs and kisses from you,” tartaglia dramatically pouts, “you went to bed so early last night and then we didn’t get to shower with you this morning since we wanted you to sleep in, but we just want the affection we missed out on while you were asleep.”

“aw,” you gush, his adorable words almost causing you to forgo cooking breakfast all together in favor of ordering if not for what kaeya says next.

“and, you know, maybe some pancakes alongside the hugs and kisses...” he ears a playful glare from tartaglia and a snicker from you. “what?” he scoffs, shrugging slightly, “i am actually hungry after the shower.”

“pancakes are simple enough! is that ok with you too, babe?” you ask tartaglia.

he turns his attention back to you with a wink, “you know me, i like any and all food - especially if you or kaeya makes it.”

with that confirmation, you begin gathering ingredients to make the batter. a couple of pancakes shared between the three of you with warm syrup slathered on top did indeed sound quite good for a lazy morning; but you decide to spice it up a little by using a large heart-shaped mold for the pancakes to cook in. as you place everything down on the countertop your apron suddenly gets wrapped around the front of you, “here,” kaeya says, tying it in the back, “you almost forgot your apron.”

“oh, thank you!” but soon after thanking him, you realize he had ulterior motives for doing so. after tying the article of clothing, his hands trace down your chest and stomach before gently grabbing your waist, pulling you back into his body for an embrace. he kisses the side of your neck as you relax into his comforting touch and the sweet scent of the shampoo he used earlier washes over you. you lean back into him, ready to close your eyes and let him carry you back to bed, but the grumbling of your stomach causes you to push that idea to the side, for now. “hey now, less seduction and more pancake preparation.”

“only you can make an apron look like a designer outfit,” tartaglia comments, adding a whistle at the end.

“well,��� you mutter as kaeya lets you go from his embrace, “you two would look great in an apron, especially if that was the only thing you were wearing.” you chuckle, knowing you were adding fuel to the fire that was their neediness, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

“i mean,” tartaglia says as he tugs on kaeya’s towel, “one of us is already almost there.”

kaeya quickly grabs the hem of the towel to make sure it didn’t fall off from his tugging, a soft chuckle on his lips as he waved his finger, “nuh-uh, like they said, not until dessert time.”

while they continue to tease each other, you begin mixing the pancake batter together. while you combine the ingredients, some of the wet mixture splashes out of the bowl and gets on your apron and your face. before you can wipe it off you feel tartaglia gently take your chin into his hand, tilting your head upward to look at him, “here let me help you clean it off,” he then kisses you before licking the sweet batter off your cheeks. he clicks his tongue, “it tastes as good as you do.” you feel your face begin to turn red from his words. both of them were always so needy in the morning to the point you’d usually just order some breakfast to be delivered so you could stay in bed with them and enjoy some extra cuddles and kisses; in fact, sometimes the three of you would stay there until the afternoon - and you loved days like that. but, today, you were determined to get these special not-surprise pancakes finished for them, and their distractions were slowing you down. thus, with some reluctance, you nudge him away, turning back towards the stove and your mixture. you pour a little of the batter into the heart-shaped mold, the warm, melted butter sizzling underneath the batter. once the shape was set, you remove the mold and now it was time to wait for it to cook before flipping it over. you turn away from the stove, eyeing your boyfriends, who both had the widest grins on their faces knowing that now they would have your attention while the pancake cooks. you open your arms, ready for their hugs, giving them a playful little eye-roll when they practically drag you away from the stovetop so they could both hug you and each other at the same time with one on one side of you and the other on the other side of you.

“you know we can’t help but want your attention every morning,” tartaglia’s voice was muffled as he nuzzled his face into your hair.

“especially when you look so adorable every morning.” kaeya adds quickly.

“i know it’s a normal thing for you two, but can’t you wait until the food is ready? maybe get some affection from each other while i cook?” you ask, trying to find a happy medium between their neediness and your want to finish these pancakes in a timely manner.

they look at each other, small smiles on both their faces, “we shared plenty of kisses in the shower, we want some from you now.” kaeya replies.

“you can’t wait for the pancakes to be done first?” you question.

“but waiting is hard…” tartaglia pouts.

“you two are the reason why food delivery services love us.” you sneer.

the three of you stop your conversation suddenly upon smelling burnt food. you scamper out of their grasps and over to the pan. you grab the spatula and try to flip the heart-shaped pancake, but half of it sticks to the bottom of the pan and what you do manage to flip is dark brown to black on the other side. tartaglia and kaeya look at each other worriedly before slowly walking over to your side. you feel sad at seeing the broken, burnt remains of the heart-shaped pancake in front of you. kaeya turns the burner off while tartaglia takes the pan, heading to the sink to dispose of the mess.

an awkward silence falls over the three of you and kaeya scratches the back of his head before trying to make some small talk, “that pancake burned really quickly, huh?”

“i guess the pan was too hot and… i should’ve been watching it.” you sigh, rubbing your forehead upon feeling a small headache coming on.

tartaglia turns the sink off, picking up a towel to dry the pan off, “it’s not your fault that you weren’t watching it cook.” he says, trying to comfort you.

kaeya rubs your upper back, “yeah, it’s more our fault for distracting you. sorry about that.”

“yeah, i’m sorry too.” tartaglia adds, bringing the cleaned pan over to the stovetop.

you shake your head, “eh, it’s alright. you two were just trying - and succeeding - at being cute.” you lean into kaeya’s chest, muttering, “i’m not upset, just a little bummed that the first pancake i cooked in a while had to burn…”

“well,” tartagla places the pan back down, grabbing a little bit of butter and placing it in the pan while kaeya turns the burner back on, “there’s still plenty of pancake batter left, right?”

kaeya glances at the bowl, “yeah, enough to make a couple more.”

“then let’s redeem ourselves!” tartaglia says as the butter begins to melt and sizzle in the warm pan.

kaeya picks up the heart-shaped mold, placing it back into the pan, “yeah, and we’ll help you this time instead of distracting you.”

tartaglia gives you the bowl filled with the pancake batter, “and then after we enjoy our not-surprise pancakes together we can go and get our kisses and cuddles.” 

their enthusiasm uplifts your mood and your pour some more of the batter into the mold, “and without distraction, you should be able to get what you want sooner!” you put the bowl back onto the counter, crossing your arms with a sly smirk, “and maybe after we enjoy our pancakes, some ‘dessert’ for breakfast might be in order.”

[neozoid]

Peril comes out

Peril's wingtips touched Clay's as they silently soared through the soft gray rain.

Half an hour ago, she had asked him if he would take just one moment to fly with her. After everything that had happened, with Jade Mountain Academy under threat and those little rapscallions - Moon, Turtle, Kinkajou, Anemone, Qibli, and Winter - had all managed to save it. The past week... no, weeks? She had lost track of time. But they had been a blur - a blur of emotions, of frustration, of painful, deep searing guilt, Darkstalker's scroll looming in her mind, and of longing. She hadn't gotten to talk to Clay in so long, and she wasn't sure that at the end of it he'd still feel the same way about her that he did when she saved his life on the brightest night.

She turned to look at his face in the grayness. His expression was focused, concentrated, effortful.

He must still be in a lot of pain from that burn I gave him, Peril thought guiltily.

No! She shook her head. I kept him alive! If it wasn't for me he'd be dead! But that didn't make her feel any better.

She turned her gaze back down to the valleys below, vast and dotted in slate blue pine trees obscured by the falling droplets. They rolled harmlessly off Clay, but they sizzled when they hit her and dissolved into steam, making her look like a ghost in flight. The rocky outcroppings below resembled a sleeping dragon - as if the landscape itself, was, once again, put to rest after Darkstalker's second sleep.

"Peril," Clay spoke.

She whipped her head around to him. "Clay?"

"I'm... I'm starting to get a bit tired. Do you think we could stop somewhere down below? Maybe in a cave."

She quickly scanned the landscape below her, and saw an opening just a half mile away. "Yeah, I see something down there." She turned herself in the direction of the cave, and Clay followed her.

As they came in for a landing, Peril opened her wings wide, scattering a million fallen petals that intermingled with the rain. She softly touched down and carefully wrapped her wings around herself, and looked back at Clay, beckoning.

They both sat in the mouth of the cave, tails twined, watching the rain fall.

After what seemed like just a moment (but Peril knew full well was the better part of an hour,) Clay looked at her and asked "So... do you want to talk about Scarlet? Or Ruby? Or the stuff that happened while you were helping Moon and her friends save Jade Mountain?"

Peril stared at him, startled. "No! I mean, yes! I mean, just..." She sighed and looked at the roof of the cave. "I do, but like... hrmmmnnm." She closed her mouth shut and hummed.

"I get it. It can be hard to talk about stuff like this. It took us five forever to find the time to reflect and talk about our feelings after everything happened." He looked at the ceiling too and laughed. "Tsunami..." he muttered happily, and shortly his smile faded, his face a sad, wistful stare. "And Glory."

"I... hm." She fidgeted with her talons nervously. "I mean, I DO want to talk about Queen Scarlet and Ruby and-" she shook her head, "not-queen-Scarlet and- arghh, but it's so! CONFUSING! And it makes me mad to think about her manipulating like that. I trusted her, I really did and..."

Clay looked into the rain. "Like we trusted Morrowseer."

"I... I guess... yeah..." She looked into a corner awkwardly, but then curled her fist. "She shouldn't have betrayed us like that!" she roared.

"What about... Turtle?" Clay offered.

Peril's heart jumped in her stomach. She thought about Turtle, the only other dragon who had understood and trusted her, at least for a while. How protective she felt of him, how she wanted to follow him (and then not...) when they were trying to find Queen Scarlet. She thought about how he went underwater that night, making her rage about how she couldn't get to him, and how regretful she felt when she left him behind. He made her feel new things, just like Clay, new weird things.

"He was nice, I guess."

"How did he feel about being an animus? That must've been why he was able to sympathize with you. He knew if he revealed his animus secret he'd be thrust into the talons of others and the plans they wanted for him, and the only way to avoid that was deep, resolute isolation. He knows how that feels, Peril."

She fumed with fury for a second. Why could he hide! He got to choose that lousy isolation, but she didn't have a choice! Then she thought about his pain-stricken face when she found his healing rock, or his vengeful look as he bashed Chameleon upside the-

Chameleon.

She stared through the wall of water passing outside.

"Peril," Clay whispered.

"Oh. Right." She looked back at him.

"I know it's a lot of stuff to think about, but I can't keep carrying this conversation by myself." He softly chuckled with a warm, patient smile.

She blushed and fluttered her wings. "Right. Sorry, sorry. I was just- argh. Arghhh." She squirmed, as if caterpillars were crawling out of her skin.

Do I tell him?

"Turtle," she said resolutely, "taught me new things about myself. He reminded me of you, actually, Clay. You were my first exposure to life outside the Skywing Palace, and if I'm being honest I was kind of disappointed with the other dragonets at Jade Academy, how they treated me. I thought they'd be like you - I thought everyone in the outside world would be like that."

Clay winced.

"But Turtle! Turtle has his friends, and, surely, he's taught them! I keep getting letters from them. Which is like, weird, but the fact that someone's thinking about me!? While I'm not in front of them!?! Threatening to blaze their FACE or melt their SKIN off!?!?!" She yelled with a smile. "It's CRAAAAZY!"

Clay let out a hearty laugh, smiling as well.

"And Queen Ruby - she hated me, she hated me so bad Clay, she hated me just as much as the other Skywings did, if not more. If Scarlet's twisted love is what makes me ache, Ruby's absolute hatred of me tore me to the core. She looked at me and didn't want anybody, nobody in the whole world to do anything with me. Didn't want anyone to touch me, look at me, love me. She saw me as an irredeemable monster because of things I couldn't control." Peril's face contorted in despair.

"But Tourmaline... Someone who hadn't been fed Scarlet's lies... She saw right through that and she knew deep in my heart I COULD love." She scratched her snout awkwardly. "Well, at least I think I can. I'm not sure."

Clay lovingly jabbed her with her shoulder, and she giggled.

"But that pure strong spirit.... It's so." Her stomach dropped. "It's so scary what Chameleon did to her. Ripped her title, her memories, her life away just for some gold, some jewels." She spat on the ground.

"And Chameleon..."

Her stomach felt like a howling void, ready to collapse her from the inside out.

Do I tell him?

What if he hates me?

He should hate me.

I'm just as bad as him.

I'm just like my dad.

She turned to Clay terrified.

"I-" she sputtered. "I want to tell you something."

Clay looked at her face, concerned, but he motioned around. "Just you and me."

"I-" Peril's muscles clenched, her veins wrapped all around inside her, her bones stabbed inside her, shame made her heat blaze ever hotter, shame and guilt and pain and fear. She wanted to fall into the ground and have it swallow her up, but she knew she didn't have a choice.

"I'm not - I'm not actually a girl. I was hatched as a boy. I- I- Queen Scarlet, she said, she- she wanted me to be like her and- " Words started running over one another. "When you got here- I- I- I just felt like protecting you- and- but- I didn't want you to give up on me- Having a relationship- I-" She wanted to die. She wanted to disappear. "I'm a liar. I'm- I'm just like Chameleon," she howled. "I'm faking it. I- I wanted you but I- I just-" She let go, and wailed.

She looked back at him. "P-please don't-don't hate me," Peril choked through tears.

Clay softly gazed at her, leaned in closer, his wings wrapping around her, and kissed her on her snout.

Peril tears turned to confusion as she leaped with delight and her scales roared a bright blazing blue, the searing heat singing any leftover moss in the cavern. Clay reflexively pulled away, and patted his singed scales, laughing.

"Ow, geez, haha! Not like that!"

"I- I- Huh??"

Peril stepped back, but looked up and peered at his expression.

He really doesn't hate me, she thought wondrously.

As Clay turned looking over himself, his scales settled, and as the smoke rose, he looked at Peril.

"You know, someone else actually said something similar to me a little while ago." He sat back down.

Peril crooned. "R-Really?"

"Yeah. It was - it was Sunny."

Peril's jaw dropped open.

"She'd mentioned to me how she'd - during our time fulfilling the dragonet prophecy, she'd... we'd kind of ignore her most of the time. Not take her seriously. When we first planned on escaping the cavern, we didn't tell her.... she was so upset, afterwards. And in all of our discussions and planning afterwards, we'd step on her feelings. Actually, you remember the Nightwing invasion? Or, well, whatever came of the invasion before they all came crashing into Glory's rainforest under fealty."

"Yeah?" Peril looked at him.

"She was the one who came up with the idea of using the sleeping darts! But Glory was planning, and the others were shouting, so she had to ask me to use my voice and SHOUT it at everyone. The point is, she felt small. And overly protected - we didn't respect her whole, y'know, feelings as part of the team."

Peril flicked her tail, anxious.

"So... A couple nights ago, she talked to me in private, and she told me how she'd been feeling, and... she said she didn't really feel like it was right to be a Queen anymore. Given Thorn had safely secured the position, and was doing a good job... And with everything about the Eye of Onyx." Clay shifted on his talons. "She could trust it to pick a new leader. And the thing is, you know how... you've seen Deathbringer. You've seen Riptide. You've seen Starflight and maybe even Winter and Qibli. And maybe even Darkstalker, and Clearsight."

He sighed.

"Male dragons have a strong feeling to protect one person, the one person who brings them all the light in the world. Sunny said she didn't really feel like that - like one person had captured her whole heart in their hands. But she certainly didn't want to be the object of that kind of affection either. And Sunny didn't feel like Queen Coral or Thorn or Scarlet either, where she wanted to protect her own kin, her own future. She wants to protect everybody. And more than that, she doesn't want to be Sunny the small and weak and lovable, or Sunny the fierce and possessive and loyal. She just wants to be... Sunny, helping out wherever she can."

Peril stared at him intently, blue eyes locked in brown. "And?"

"Well, at first we tried just referring to Sunny by name to sort of, you know, respect her decision, but Starflight looked through the library and found in some old scrolls people using 'they' to refer to - did you even know there were dragons who decided to live past being a boy or a girl in the past, just like Sunny? I was surprised."

Peril's mind was racing. "They must be so happy," she said, eyes sparkling.

Outside, the rain had cleared, and Peril noticed out beyond the cave was a huge field of sunflowers, waving and dancing in the cool wind.

Suddenly her thoughts returned to her.

"But that thing you said earlier about protecting..." Peril looked down at her talons uncomfortably.

"Oh yeah - sorry, I... I didn't mean to. I just..." Clay caught himself. "I... I'm sorry Peril. I know your feelings about this must be really, really complicated. I..." Clay looked away again with a twinge of guilt on his face.

Peril stared at him, trembling.

"But Sunny taught me something I hadn't even thought about before." He chuckled. "I did think about it too, but after a long night of restless staring at the sky and thinking I figured I was perfectly happy being a guy. But that look on Sunny's face... they must have struggled as much with telling us as you did."

"I love you, Peril. I don't think you're anything like Chameleon at all. He only used his identities to trick and manipulate others, to get what he wanted for himself. But you've only ever been trying to find yourself - with Scarlet twisting your thoughts from birth, with how everyone's avoided you and you've been excluded from all the Skywings and, man, even the other dragon's games on Jade Mountain. It must hurt so much to be that isolated."

Peril stared into the field, unable to meet his gaze, tears running down her face.

"I just want you to know, Peril, I love you for who you chose to be. For all of your heroism, and your kindness. Your self-restraint. Chameleon had none of those qualities. But you do."

He stared her straight in the eye.

"What you chose is noble, and so so hard. Being true to yourself - more than Chameleon ever was, he couldn't handle being boring old him - is so, so hard. I know."

Peril thought about the Chameleon's enchanted necklace that removed her firescales. She shuddered deeply."

But you did it. And you shouldn't have to live with the shame, or the guilt anymore. You can have a new beginning just like us." His eyes creased as he looked into hers so warmly, making her melt. "You might protect my scales, but I want to protect your smile. I hope you can let me do that."

"I-"

She rushed forward and hugged him, squeezing him tight. Tears streamed down her face, and she choked down a sob, but she hugged him as tight as she could, not letting go.

"Thank you, Clay," she said when she finally let him out of her little death trap.

"Woof!" He stumbled backwards, breathlessly. "I know I said be true to yourself, but maybe we can work a little on the intensity." He looked at her with a silly expression on his face. "Just kidding. You're perfect the way you are."

"Ha ha," she guffawed. "Tell that to anyone else at Jade Academy." She joked, but she knew deep in her heart that the others were starting to see her for what she could be, too. Not just a monster, or a weapon - but a friend.

"So my queen, shall we return to the mountain?" He curtseyed awkwardly, then looked up with one eye. "Actually, wait, that sounds kind of weird? Girlfriend? Babe?" He started scratching his head. "Names were never really my strong suit."

She howled with laughter and smacked him on the back, taking flight. "Just call me Peril," she triumphantly roared. As Clay lept into flight behind her, grinning, Peril thought... Not gonna lie - I like babe too.

[julek]

read on ao3

“Geralt?”

Jaskier moved closer, his footsteps echoing down the stone hallway. The Witcher was sitting down, his hands in his lap as a thoughtful look crossed his face. He looked adorable, admittedly, brow furrowed and white strands framing his face, which was burrowed into a woolen blanket.

“Hi, love,” Jaskier said softly, and climbed onto Geralt’s lap as he opened his arms in invitation. He gently traced Geralt’s cheeks, pink from the cold wind howling outdoors. “You look... transfixed. Did Lambert try fishing with bombs again?”

At that, Geralt smiled, a soft, small thing, pink lips curving up. His cold fingers traced nonsense patterns on Jaskier’s back, even though layers and layers of warm fabrics stood in his way — sometimes, it was about feeling Jaskier’s skin against his, the touch grounding and pleasant; sometimes, it was about occupying his hands for the sake of doing it, no plans or intention.

“Ciri and I trained earlier this morning,” he rumbled, his voice rough.

Jaskier hummed, his nose brushing Geralt’s hair. “I know. I heard her swearing all the way to the library.”

“Hmm. She gets frustrated.”

“That she does.”

“She’s getting good. Real good. She just can’t see it, I’m—” Geralt’s frown deepened, his mouth twitching like the words wanted to escape him. He closed his eyes and breathed out, once, twice. “She’s really good. I wish she could see that— how far she’s come.”

“Mm.” Jaskier pulled back, only a little, to catch a glimpse of that amber gaze. “Have you told her?”

“Hmm?”

“What you think— have you told her? How far she’s come, how proud you are of her?”

Geralt narrowed his eyes, almost a subconscious thing, and Jaskier could tell he was turning the idea over and over in his head. Jaskier tucked his head in the crook of the Witcher’s neck, then pressed a small kiss over his pulsepoint. He felt Geralt relax against him, if only a bit.

They stayed in each other’s arms for a while, comfortable silence surrounding them, Geralt’s hands running across the bard’s back, Jaskier humming a quiet melody as the hearth rumbled and firewood cracked, sizzling noises filling the air.

“You know,” Geralt murmured against Jaskier’s hair.

“Yeah?”

Geralt shifted his weight on the armchair, pulling the blanket tighter around them both. Some minutes passed, and Jaskier didn’t push, didn’t press — he just waited, knowing the words would come when they’re meant to, if at all.

“She called me ‘Dad’, the other day,” Geralt whispered, and he sounded embarrassed, somehow, his voice thick. “‘T was a slip of the tongue, she— she didn’t mean it. We’d been sparring, and she kept getting frustrated and wanted to quit. Then snow started falling.”

Jaskier found his hand, buried under the blankets, and squeezed it softly.

Geralt smiled, his cheeks flushed a gentle pink. “And Ciri was so tired and miserable, and I was getting impatient too, and I just— I took some snow in my hands, and made a ball, and just— covered her in it. She was furious.” He let out a small laugh. “‘T was war, she said. And we kept throwing snow at each other. She started running, at one point, and I chased her around the courtyards.”

Jaskier felt tears gathering in his eyes, delighted by the story, and by the sentiment Geralt’s voice carried.

“Ciri was laughing so hard by the time I got her, and she didn’t care that her hair was white and her fingers had gone numb,” Geralt continued. “She was so happy, Jas. I— I had never seen her like that. So carefree and happy, like any child should be.”

He took in a deep breath, pressing their foreheads together. Jaskier grinned, his eyes closed, as they breathed in the same air. “We were laughing together,” he said. “And then we stopped, and everything was still for a second, and she said, ‘that was so fun, Dad’, and— she sounded so happy, so... alive. She hugged me.”

Jaskier felt a tear slip down his cheek. “Geralt.”

Geralt looked at him, so open and vulnerable, and his thumb gently wiped the tear away.

“Of course she meant it,” Jaskier said, and his voice cracked. “Of course she did.”

“I don’t know, Jas, I don’t— This is so hard on her. Everything. I don’t want to pressure her into anything she doesn’t want.”

“You’re so lovely, Geralt,” Jaskier murmured against his cheek, and hugged closer, his heart breaking a little. “You’re such a good man, so honest and humble and good— she adores you.”

“Hmm.”

He meant it — he’d seen it firsthand. The first week Ciri spent in the keep, Geralt had made sure she felt comfortable, showing her around and encouraging her to ask questions and wander the grounds whenever she felt like it. He’d train with her in the mornings and, after they all had lunch together, he’d accompany her to the library, where she and Vesemir would sit for hours on end, surrounded by books and bestiaries and ancient stories, all under the Witcher’s attentive gaze. Late at night, after dinner but before the wolves turned in for the night, Geralt would walk her to her room, then stay for a bit to tuck her in and listen to her talk — long conversations about her past, Cintra and her family, or small remarks about her findings in the keep, a hunting trip with Eskel or an alchemy lesson with Lambert. Geralt listened intently every time, and remembered every detail she’d shared with him. He worried about her; sometimes, late at night, Jaskier would wake up to find him sitting outside on their balcony, a foreign expression on his face and a steaming mug of tea between his hands. He cared for her endlessly — he loved Ciri.

Jaskier brushed a kiss against his forehead, warm and loving, and was about to bury his face back into Geralt’s neck, when a soft noise made them both look up.

Ciri padded into the room, her hair mussed and sleep still tugging at her eyes as she rubbed them with the back of her hand. In the firelight, she looked even younger, her rosy cheeks and soft woolen socks the most perfect picture of pure innocence. As she moved closer to them, Jaskier saw it, the worn fabric of Geralt’s cloak, draped over her shoulders like a cape and dragging across the floor, too large to fit her body. He looked at Geralt and saw his own expression mirrored on his face, if only more intense — adoration, raw and blatant, pouring from his eyes, a smile curling on his lips.

“Ciri?” Geralt called, one hand stetched out for her. “What is it?”

She moved closer, entwining his fingers with Geralt’s, so different yet so similar; pale hands that were slowly becoming more calloused and hard as they gained experience. “Fell asleep in the kitchen, by the fire. Vesemir wanted me to tell you he needed help with dinner.” She yawned. “Also grumbled something about you being lazy, but I told him we trained hard today, and he frowned, but said it was okay. That we could be lazy today.”

Geralt huffed a laugh, and Jaskier shifted so Ciri could sit on Geralt’s thigh, too. “Hmm. Good, then. Wouldn’t want to laze around without his permission.”

Ciri wrapped her arms around Geralt’s neck, and rested her head on his shoulder, firmly fighting sleep but losing. “Hmm.”

Jaskier snorted, and swatted playfully at Geralt’s side. “Oh, Geralt, that’s all you. She did not even know how to ‘hmm’ before she met you.”

“Hmm.”

He shook his head in fond exasperation, and leaned back, just a bit, to look at them in earnest. He watched as Geralt now traced small circles on Ciri’s back, her body tucked into his side as she snored softly, a small smile on her face. Geralt looked so content, so peaceful, so at home, Jaskier’s heart ached in his chest, pride and love fluttering in his stomach. They deserved it — every bit of peace and quiet, every moment of tenderness they could get, they deserved them all, and even more.

“You’re being sappy in your head, I can tell.”

Jaskier clicked his tongue. “I’m being sentimental— there’s a difference, thank you very much.”

Geralt leaned back, his head pressed against the chair, and closed his eyes with a content rumble and a knowing smirk on his lips. “Hmm.”

“Don’t know why I put up with you and your nonsensical grunting, really. Must have been dropped on my head as a child.”

“Must’ve been.”

Jaskier gasped with mock outrage. “You horrible, horrible Witcher. Don’t know why I bother.”

Geralt cracked one amber eye open. “Because you love me.”

“Hmm. Yet further proof I was most definitely gravely injured as a child,” Jaskier replied, with but there was no bite to his words. “I’ll go help Vesemir with dinner— someone must, if you’re to stay here and simply laze.”

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” Geralt said, teasing. Jaskier let out a small laugh and leaned down to kiss his forehead once more, then brushed Ciri’s hair back from her face. He took his hand back, but Geralt stopped him. “Thank you. Truly. I love you.”

Jaskier’s chest seized, and he smiled, smitten. “I love you, too. Very much. Now sleep, I’ll come wake you both when supper’s ready.”

“Okay.” Geralt leaned back. “Please don’t burn the keep down.”

Jaskier grinned, and looked back at him before shutting the door. “No promises.”

[silversatoru]

hi!! me again, saw that you want some bnha requests and hoo boy do i fuckin got one for ya

im a hardcore member of the fuck bakugo 🖕🏼 squad but i also wanna fuck bakugo ya know?

therefore i would like to request a smut fic where bakugo is so painfully angry at the fact that he has a crush on the reader that he ends up getting caught stealing their panties and chaos ensues 😌

anyway love you bye ❤️

compulsion

touch-starved bakugou katsuki x f!reader

tags/warnings: nsfw, oral sex (male receiving), mild obsession, dom?reader, characters aged up

w/c: 1.9k

katsuki bakugo hates a lot things.

he hates hero training, he hates his annoying classmates, and he hates the fact that it rained today. he hates living in the UA dorms and he fucking hates the overly salted bowl of ramen he was forcing down his throat right now.

bakugo katsuki hates almost everything, but he doesn’t hate you — and he hates that doesn’t.

having a distaste for the world made things easier, because if he always assumed the worse than he’d never be disappointed. he’d gotten pretty far with that logic — that was up until you waltzed into his life and fucked it all up, sending his logic hurling out the window.

when he looked at you he didn’t feel the same hate that he felt for the world around him — in fact when he looked at you he felt a disgusting urge of optimism. he liked the way your hair fell around your shoulders, the way your lips curled when you smiled, and the way your skirt rode up your thighs. he didn’t hate anything about you and that’s what he hated most.

see ya later, katsuki! you’d called to him after hero training today, your round glossy lips pronouncing his name in a way that made his heart flicker and his blood boil over. why did everything about you have to be so fucking perfect? he couldn’t find a single flaw on your annoyingly pristine body no matter how hard he searched for one.

your voice consumed his mind — everything you said to him today replaying on repeat at the center stage of his brain:

come eat lunch with us, katsuki!

hey katsuki, did you finish the math homework? number seven makes like- no fucking sense.

have you seen those chips i like, katsuki? i swear if denki ate them all again i’m gonna kill him

your voice was precious, a terribly sensual melody in his sullen ears. and the way you clung to the ends of your words for just a little too long was repulsively adorable too.

katsuki needed something, anything, to get you off his mind. sitting here and daydreaming about you was making him irate with himself — forcing intrusively irrational thoughts through his thick head. something, anything, he needed to stop thinking about you.

he tossed what was left of his shitty ramen into the trash can and exited the kitchen. the common area was filled with students right now, you included, and it was much too crowded and annoying for his liking. you were sitting with hanta, laughing at some shitty fucking joke he was spouting off.

not that he enjoyed watching that lanky scotch-tape dispenser flirt with you — but it was keeping you busy. your dorm room would be empty right now, wouldn’t it?

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

katsuki’s not sure how he ended up here, seething with anger and digging fervently through your drawer of panties. surely you wouldn’t mind if he took just one pair, right? you have to understand that he wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t absolutely need them. he wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t make him so fucking angry — this is your fault, not his. 

he lifted the lacy material closer to his face for further inspection, unable to prevent his mind from wandering to how it would look wrapped around your body. fuck, they even smelled good — not that he was smelling them intentionally or anything, don't get the wrong idea. he just so happened to get close enough that the soft aroma of cherry blossom fabric softener wafted into his nostrils.

simmering with anger and foggy with unwanted lust, katsuki pocketed the panties for later and turned back towards the door — the same door that you were now standing in front of with immense confusion in your eyes. fuck. 

“uh... hey katsuki, whatcha doin?” you stepped into the room and closed the door behind you, cocking your head to the side. 

“i- uh- it’s fucking none of your business,” he snarled at you, face flushing as he tried to figure out how long you’ve been standing there and how much you saw.

“you’re in my room dude, it’s totally my business,” you raised an eyebrow at him, “and that pair of panties you took is one of my favorites, maybe you could pocket one of the uglier pairs?”

“god, fucking dumbass, this is your fault! i wouldn’t be here right now if you weren’t so fucking infuriating,” his face was so angry and flushed you could have sworn there was steam sizzling off his skin.

“me? it’s my fault you’re standing in my room with a pair of my underwear in your pocket and an obvious boner in your pants?”

katsuki grimaced, faltering for just a second as he awkwardly shifted his sweatshirt and pulled it down to cover his swollen erection, “yeah shithead, that’s what i just said. weren’t you fucking listening?”

“this is horribly desperate, katsuki, you could have just asked. i’m more than willing to help you out with this,” you stepped forward and began to shorten the distance between the two of you.

“willing to help me? are you insane? i don’t need your fucking help!” he tried to retaliate, but you were already inches from him, reaching down and dragging a hard palm over the lump in his jeans.

“quit screaming like a lunatic and let me help you, i know this is what you think about,” you pressed harder and gave him an icy stare, the boy using everything in his power not to crumble under your touch.

he’d never been touched like this by anyone, and he was so caught off guard by your sudden movements that he simply stared back at you, frozen in place. no arguments, no insults, no deflective blaming — his brain could barely compute his own name now that your hand was prodding at his bulge.

“that’s what i thought,” you cracked a small smile, “poor katsuki, always pushing everyone away and never getting any action. come sit down”.

katsuki failed to wrap his brain around the current events, wondering how his failed attempt at stealing a pair of panties had led to him sitting on the edge of your bed while you stripped him of his trousers. you were sinking to your knees now, head perfectly level with his cock that was standing flush against his abdomen.

he almost flinched when you reached out and brushed your delicate fingers over the red, swollen head of his dick. his cheeks were flushed with a deep red, and he wanted nothing more than to yell you, to tell you how much of a freak you were. but he didn’t, because as much as he hated to admit it, your touch was the best thing he’d ever felt.

your fingers were wrapped around his shaft now, pumping slow strokes as you warmed him up. he hissed and squirmed under your brand new touch — eyes squeezing shut and hands grabbing fistfuls of your comforter. katsuki had touched himself plenty of times, most of them while thinking of you, but your hand felt so much better than his ever did.

“you’ve never been touched like this, have you?” you pouted up at him, your fingers squeezing a little tighter and pumping a little faster, “poor baby”.

“i- fuck- ah,” he choked out a pitiful cluster of sounds that didn’t actually form any words but still gave you the answer to your question.

you were terribly amused, the typically angry boy was a twitching mess under your touch and you’d barely even started yet. you could only imagine how quickly he’d melt when your lips were around his cock — you were dying to find out.

you leaned forward and began slowly flicking your tongue over the puffy tip, still pumping the shaft with one of your hands. katsuki let out strings of sounds that could only be described as mewls and whimpers, his thighs shaking and his knuckles turning white. poor poor baby, you continued to think, i’m gonna make you feel better than you ever have before.

your head dipped low, the first few inches of his cock sliding across your tongue and into the back of your mouth. the blonde boy whined and bucked his hips, his eyes shooting open at the sudden burst of hot, wet pleasure.

“hng- fuck- fucking sh-shit,” his curses came out as pitiful gasps for air as he stared down at you with wide eyes.

you gradually took more and more of his length into the depths of your throat — his extensive length, by the way. for someone so blessed with such a big, pretty cock, you couldn’t believe he didn’t put it to use more often.

katsuki was cussing you out like it was his job, but each word was accompanied by a gasp or a humiliating whimper. he was so fucking embarrassed, but he felt much too good to care right now. your wet, sticky mouth was enveloping his cock in the most perfect way, jolts of euphoria spiking through his veins and fogging his head.

there was a pressure quickly building in his stomach, a tight wam feeling that signified he was going to come all too soon. but of course you expected this — honestly he’d lasted a few minutes longer than you thought he would.

when his orgasm finally racked through him, his entire body twitched and convulsed, his hips bucking wildly as strings of white liquid sprung from his cock and lined the walls of your tight throat. you milked every drop of cum from him, swallowing it down and then pulling your head back. as much as you wanted to push him and overstimulate him you decided to play nice for his first time.

“so good, katsuki. did you like that?”

his shoulders caved in and his head hung low as he finally came down from his high — the realization of all of the transpiring events finally catching up to him. he mumbled the quietest: yeah, it felt fucking good in response to your question, but refused to meet your eyes.

“we could do this more often, what you think?” you reached up and placed your hand under his chin, coaxing him to look at you.

“fuck- fine, yeah whatever, but don’t fucking tell anyone about this,” he growled, his angry eyes and twisted eyebrows finally meeting yours.

“of course,” you smiled, standing and tossing him his pants to put back on, “i just came here to grab a sweatshirt, so i better go before anyone comes looking for me. i’ll come find you later though, promise”.

and with that you were walking through the door, wiping your sticky lips on the sleeve of your sweatshirt and heading for the elevators. katsuki sat on the edge of your bed for a few minutes longer, mind blown by the curves of your mouth and the skill of your tongue.

katsuki didn’t hate you before, and he really doesn’t hate you now, but he’s coming to terms with it this time. letting his walls down for you doesn’t sound all that bad if it means you’ll keep making him feel like this.

[that-one-girl-behind-you]

Illicio 21/?

Part 20

"Jon? Did you- oh!" Martin's voice says above them. Gerry looks up at him, taking in his slightly confused smile. "What's happening?"

"We're planning a garden, apparently," Jon says before Gerry can respond.

Martin's eyebrows arch, and his mouth forms a little 'o' of surprise. "That sounds lovely actually."

"Any requests?" Gerry asks. It's a bit ridiculous how happy this makes him, that the two of them just... hopped into his dumb idea. It feels hopeful, like they too want to plan for a future together.

Martin rests his chin on his crossed arms on the windowsill, and gives them a smile just the slightest bit mischievous.

"I think we should plant lavender."

XXI

Martin doesn't wake up with a start. His heart isn't hammering in his chest and his breathing isn't shallow and hurried; his nightmares are not the kind that makes you feel in danger, the kind your body wants to wake up from.

They're... gentle.

Calm walks down into a soft grey expanse where he knows nothing can hurt him, because he is alone asides from his thoughts, and the sadness that permeates his every step.

He guesses it must show somehow when he's dreaming of the Lonely, because he usually wakes up to Jon or Gerry's gently concerned voices, and a hand nudging at his shoulder until he decides it's time to come back.

Funnily enough, it's the lack of those what does it this time; if neither of the two is waking him up, that means it's one of those rare, blessed nights in which the three of them were able to sleep, and they're going to be pretty sad if they wake up and find that Martin dreamt himself into the Lonely.

He wants to think they'd be at least, even if it's a bit selfish.

It's with that want that he opens his eyes to the darkness of the bedroom, and he turns to Jon with a slow-spreading smile when he hears him muttering something about a cat in his sleep. He doesn't Watch people's nightmares on the nights Gerry feeds him, and it's nice to know he's just having a regular dream. It feels... normal. Like what Martin wants the rest of their lives to be.

He looks over Jon's shoulder, to see how Gerry's doing, and his stomach flips when he notices the man is not in bed with them.

It's okay, it doesn't have to be something ominous, Martin thinks. His heartbeat is speeding up now though, as he climbs off the bed and investigates the empty bathroom, before risking the rest of the cottage. People go for midnight snacks, that's a normal thing to do. Even if Gerry doesn't get hungry, he still likes to eat.

He jokes and says it makes him feel like a person, though Martin thinks he's the most human of the three of them, whenever he watches him hold Jon in his arms, looking down at the man like he's surprised he's still there, and the soft light of the cottage projecting a golden hue over his dark hair, making Martin's hands itch for a notepad and a pen.

His stomach knots tighter and tighter over itself, when he moves down the corridor towards the kitchen, and finds the entire cottage is encased in darkness.

"Martin?" a voice asks from the pitch-black kitchen, and Martin jumps, his chest flooding with the mix of exasperation and relief that has become synonym with Gerry in his mind.

"Why are you in the dark?" Martin asks, his voice soft. It feels important, for some reason, that they don't disturb the silence too much. As Martin's eyes get accustomed to the darkness, he can make out Gerry's form against the far end of the kitchen, his hair messed from restless sleep, his face tired, a steaming mug in his hand.

"Don't need it to see," Gerry whispers back with a shrug. "Why are you up?"

Martin makes his way over to him, leans on the counter by his side. It's hard to say if Gerry's radiating warmth, or if Martin is just too cold. "Nightmares."

"...Ah. Sorry." Gerry reaches over to place his mug on the table, and turns to face Martin. "Are you- I could make you a cup of tea. Can't promise it'll be any good, though."

His tone is genuinely apologetic, and Martin feels his lips curl into a smile. "Well, you had to be bad at something, didn't you?"

"Is my lack of tea-brewing ability a deal-breaker?" Gerry's voice carries the hint of a smile now, and his fingers brush against Martin's on the counter. "I'm willing to take some lessons, if that's the case. I happen know the perfect teacher."

"It apparently isn't a deal breaker, because you're both hopeless at it." It's mind-blowing, to think they're just... here.

Alive, standing at the kitchen in the middle of the night, the scent of coffee curling around them like a blanket as they make quiet jokes about a relationship that they haven't discussed, but that is somehow there anyways. The tension of looks exchanged over Jon's head, of brushes of skin that feel loaded with electricity and the knowledge that the other will be there, steady and reliable like the sunrise every morning.

"Well... the offer still stands, or if you want some of my coffee-"

"I shouldn't." Martin shakes his head. "It gives me anxiety, and I was hoping to go back to sleep."

"Oh." Gerry looks sideways and up at him, looking at a loss of what to do. Martin finds it endearing; of course Gerry can't deal with the thought of not fixing something; can't even fathom the thought that just his presence is doing wonders to ground him. "Can I do something, then?"

Martin looks down at him, at the faintest gleam of moonlight that comes across the dusty windows -they need to clean that before Jon takes it upon himself to do it- to only insinuate the beautiful mix of blue and green of his sweet, concerned eyes.

"You could kiss me, Mister Keay."

The embarrassment of being so blunt is more than worth it, when Gerry's eyes fly wide open, and a surprised chuckle escapes him, almost sounding like it was punched out of him.

"I- would that help?" he asks, but he can't keep the smile off his lips and Martin is so taken by the sight of him that he nearly leans down to do it himself.

"I think there's one way to find out." Martin smiles.

Gerry's hands are careful when they finally land on him; one on the back of his neck, one on his cheek, just like he's seen him touch Jon a handful of times before they kiss. Martin's heartbeat speeds up, and he might be drunk on the feeling already, the thought of being wanted almost as intoxicating as its counterpart.

He lets himself be pulled down, lets his face be tilted to the side, and the hand on his cheek pushes his glasses up his forehead so they don't get in the way.

It's a bit poetic, to kiss this ghost of pain and ink and love under the quiet glow of moonlight, and know that the only lonely thing in this kitchen is the mug of coffee cooling on the table.

They separate slowly, like waking up on a lazy morning, and Martin's wet lips tingle with want and with the weight of words it's far too soon to say.

"Did that help?" Gerry sounds cocky and pleased, but also a little bit breathless, and Martin rolls his eyes as a wave of warmth washes over him.

"You know, I'm not so sure," Martin taps a finger against his chin. "We might have to try again to confirm."

Gerry laughs quietly, probably to avoid waking Jon up, Martin thinks, and the words threaten to spill from his lips again. "Well, we have to be certain, don't we?"

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

"She knew these were not her children, and this was not her home. But they kept calling her mum, and there were many, many pictures on the mantle showing the happy life they lived. Feeding the ducks at St. John's, having a picnic by the lake, playing at the beach, practically every moment of their life documented in carefully crafted snapshots. She did not remember having a spouse that captured those moments either, but surely the pictures couldn't be lying to her, could they? She'd had a bad night's sleep, she was confused, and she needed to make breakfast for her children, what kind of mother would let them go hungry? She swore she'd never be like her own." Gerry readjusts his arms as Jon shifts on his chest in seek of a more comfortable position, and he reaches forward to kiss the crown of his head before continuing. "She started breakfast as she usually did, eggs on toast, and two slices of grilled ham, one for her and one for Dusty. Her hands stilled over the sizzling pan as she contemplated the name that felt so natural in her mind but that didn't fit with the reality she was currently living. She had two children, a house, and a lovely spouse with a lens for a face. She did not have a playful little mutt with ash-colored fur and a long lolling tongue, always with a chewed up stick by his awkardly large paws-"

"So what you're saying is you can escape the fears with the power of quiche and the power of puppies?" Martin asks, his voice tinged with amusement.

"That's exactly what I'm getting from it too, Martin, thank you." Jon snorts, and Gerry squeezes him in retaliation before looking at Martin. He finds him by the window, sitting at the little table they dragged there, with a notepad and a steaming cup of tea before him.

"Don't encourage him, that's how you end up having to pull him from coffins and alternate dimensions."

"In his defense, it was hardly his fault that he got hit on the face with that bat."

"See? Martin knows when things are my fault, that one wasn't."

"The coffin was definitely your fault, though." Martin points at him with the spoon he used to stir some sugar into his drink. "Is this a mixed one?"

"It definitely sounds like it. Spiral, Stranger, Eye... I'm thinking it's the house itself." Jon shifts some more on his chest to look at Martin too, before squeezing Gerry's forearm. "We'd known if someone would just finish the statement."

"So demanding." Gerry rolls his eyes.

"The hungry, hungry Archivist," Martin mutters under his breath as he blows on his cup of tea, and Gerry snorts over Jon's offended 'Martin!'. It's- it's good to see Marting feeling comfortable enough to joke around. "Sorry, sorry! Finish it, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Don't apologize," Gerry chuckles. "Where was I?"

"The power of puppies," Jon grumbles.

"I'm going to stop feeding you, sir."

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

"You should treat me to lunch or something, I've been sitting on a bus for eleven hours," Tim groans as he stretches his arms over his head to pop the kinks in his back.

"That's kind of your fault though," Martin chuckles. His shoulder feels cold where he bumps it against Tim's, a reminder that none of them really escaped the Institute intact. "You could've come through Helen."

"And miss the chance to feel like a regular human being? Martin, please." Tim bumps his shoulder right back as they walk down the main street. The little town is quaint and quiet, picturesque in a way Tim knows both Martin and Jon are suckers for, which he supposes is good enough. Martin deserves to end his story in a place like this. "How have you been?"

"Hm? Oh, we've- we're doing well. It's- it's good. We're good." There's a spot of color to Martin's face when he smiles, and Tim rolls his eyes. "What?"

"You've really got the worst taste in men, it explains why you were never into me."

"I hope you'll be able to forgive me," Martin laughs. "How are things back home?"

Tim shrugs, shifting the cardboard box he's carrying to support it on his hip instead. "It's going. Elias is still nowhere to be found, not that the police are really looking for him anyways. Basira could probably find him, but she's got other things to worry about now."

Martin lets out a slow exhale, his shoulders growing a bit heavier. "Still no luck with Daisy?"

"She knows how to find her just fine, and Daisy's leaving a trail of dead avatars that's pretty clear to follow even for regular people." Tim sighs as well, running a hand through his hair. "Daisy moves too fast though. There's no way to predict where she's going next, she's not following any pattern."

"Yeah... Jon said as much. He's tried- he says the things he Sees in her mind make no sense, it's all impulse and instinct, nothing logical that he could understand."

"That sounds about right," Tim mutters. The thing that broke out of Daisy's skin, that launched down the tunnels in a clash of claws and fangs and blood along with the other two... he doubts there's much human thinking going on with any of the hunters right now. "I suppose it's not too bad as long as she's only hunting avatars, isn't it?"

"I don't know," Martin says quietly. "I don't- things don't feel as black and white anymore, if you ask me."

Tim snorts.

"Some of your best friends are avatars?" He asks. Martin arches an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look, and Tim feels the teasing smirk on his face turn pleased instead. "Yeah. Okay."

-------

The place looks nice enough, a little stone fence with a wrought iron gate and a path made of stepping stones leading to a door whose blue paint has long since chipped and faded under sun and wind and rain. It looks... inoffensive, a little slice of the countryside to escape the chaos of the city, or whatever terrible plans your eldricht monster of a boss has weaved for you. Cozy and warm and welcoming, a place where one could make a home.

Martin pushes the door open, and Tim freezes at the very familiar scent coming from inside.

"...Tim?" Martin turns back to look at him when he doesn't follow him in. "What's wrong?"

How to explain it to Martin that nothing is wrong, or rather nothing he can put to words?

He remembers this smell, and the last time he felt it, the sound of rain spattering on the windows, and a movie on the background. He remembers teasing (back when he thought he was healing, that maybe one day there would be more to his life than just mourning his brother) about feeling like he was being set up for something, and then the hurried announcement and yes, don't be ridiculous, of course I'll move to the Archives with you, does that mean I have to call you boss now?

The thrill of being a safe space for someone, even broken as he was.

"Tim, are you-"

"Martin? Did you bring- oh." Jon stops just short of actually stepping out of the kitchen, looking at him like he's a ghost and the Desolation inside him burns, though whether it's Jon's sorrow or his own that he's feeding off of is anyone's best guess. "I'm- hi."

I hate you. I miss you.

"Hey," Tim pushes through a dry throat. "You- you made barg?"

Jon nods slowly. "I understand, if you don't want to eat with m-"

"It would be very stupid, though," interrupts a third voice, and Gerry's stepping out into the living room from somewhere deeper into the cottage. "You'd have to go all the way back to town to find yourself a sandwich or something. You look like crap, but I guess a long bus ride will do that to anyone, even fear avatars huh?"

His voice is somewhat terse, and Tim wonders if he can feel the hurt in Jon's voice just as intensely as Tim himself can. The air in the room grows heavy as every eye settles on Tim, waiting for him to reply.

"I'm- yeah. I think I'll ask Helen to give me a ride back. I can stay in her for a while to make it up to her," he says finally. Things are never going to be the same. Tim doesn't want them to be the same. The friendship they shared once was rooted in pain too, but this is different. "I could eat something, I guess."

-----

"I'm- I brought some statements," he says later that night, after they've had dinner and cleared the plates away.

"Oh?" Martin arches an eyebrow where he's dropping an armful of blankets and a pillow on the sofa.

Tim averts his eyes.

"I just- I know you have other ways to feed now, but I thought it would be a good idea to keep your boyfriend from running dry too soon." He can feel their eyes on him, but he keeps his gaze on the little radio on the table by the window. "We don't want you going out to hunt random people."

"Thank you, Tim." Jon says quietly, carefully. Tim doesn't have to look up to guess Jon isn't looking at him either, or the small lopsided smile.

"Hm," he says. "Dinner- it was good. Thank you."

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

"Gerry? Martin wants to know if- what are you doing?" Jon's words taste like surprise and laughter, like warm honey, like so many emotions Gerry has never had aimed at him before, and that feel like coming home. "You've got dirt on your nose."

Gerry looks up to find Jon leaning out the open window, looking down at him with bright eyes and a brighter smile. He's suddenly very aware of how he must look, the aforementioned dirt on his nose, and his hair done up into a messy bun to keep it out of his face, kneeling on the ground with a pile of badly pulled weeds by his side.

"I'm- I've never had a garden before." Gerry shrugs. It's not so much the words he's embarrassed about, but the implications. Like painting the door, like oiling the gate, building a garden is not something one does for a temporary place. "I just thought it would be fun to try- whoa, careful!"

He reaches up to hold Jon's forearm as he all but climbs out the window and comes to crouch down by his side.

"Have you started thinking about what you will plant yet?" Jon asks. There's not a hint of compulsion in the question, despite his eyes lighting up with the eerie green of his powers. "Maybe a raspberry bush, carrots... some potatoes later on?"

Gerry snorts. "Did you just use the Beholding to Know what veggies we could grow?"

"It's high time it was useful for something." Jon shrugs, giving him a coy little grin. When Gerry reaches over to pull him against his chest he comes easily enough, laughing. "You're going to get dirt on me."

"Get used to it." Gerry presses a kiss to his cheek. "I love you."

Jon turns his head then, to kiss the corner of his lips. "I love you too," he says.

The words pour into Gerry like warm water over a sore muscle, and they settle in his chest right where his heart should be, bright and warm and so sweet with emotion that Gerry can't bring himself to answer in any way other than squeezing Jon tighter against his chest, burying his face in Jon's mess of soft dark and grey hair.

"Jon? Did you- oh!" Martin's voice says above them. Gerry looks up at him, taking in his slightly confused smile. "What's happening?"

"We're planning a garden, apparently," Jon says before Gerry can respond.

Martin's eyebrows arch, and his mouth forms a little 'o' of surprise. "That sounds lovely actually."

"Any requests?" Gerry asks. It's a bit ridiculous how happy this makes him, that the two of them just... hopped into his dumb idea. It feels hopeful, like they too want to plan for a future together.

Martin rests his chin on his crossed arms on the windowsill, and gives them a smile just the slightest bit mischievous.

"I think we should plant lavender."

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

"I thought you were done with the pining, sir," Gerry whispers into his ear, the grin clear in his voice.

Jon merely smiles and moves along on the sofa to make some space for him, before he turns back to look at Martin.

He's practically nose-deep in the old transistor radio they found back at the toolshed, his sleeves rolled back over his forearms and a streak of dust across his forehead where he scratched absentmindedly a few minutes ago.

"I'll give it to you, it is a nice view," Gerry adds. He's got no regards for subtlety of course, and Jon smiles wider as Martin's cheeks flush a little, though he keeps his gaze stubbornly focused on the inside of the radio. "Are you sure you don't want us to get a new one?"

"This one is perfectly good, thank you." Martin rolls his eyes. "It just needed some cleaning."

The satisfied smile on his lips when he flips the switch and the speakers crackle to life is a memory Jon will treasure for a long while.

"You continue to surprise me, mister Blackwood." Gerry chuckles. "What are we listening to?"

"I don't really- oh, this is good." Martin smiles again when the radio picks up a frequency. The music is somewhat static-y, but still recognizable as some old 70s rock. The tempo is fairly upbeat and cheerful, and Martin bounces a leg to it. "The silence was starting to get to me."

"We can't have that," Gerry nods solemnly, climbing to his feet. "C'mere."

"What?" Martin chuckles, but his hand comes to rest on Gerry's offered hand as the song picks up in rhythm.

"I'm asking you for this dance, sir." Gerry grins and pulls him up and against him in a twirl that has them tripping over each other and stumbling to regain their balance.

Jon smiles softly to himself as he watches them fall into step with each other, laughing all the way like a couple teenagers that have had one too many beers.

Gerry leans up to kiss a freckle on Martin's cheekbone, and Martin's eyes slide over to pin Jon, brighter than ever and making his heart skip a couple beats.

Jon stands no chance when large hands wrap around his wrists to yank him to his feet, but realistically, he wasn't really going to put up much of a fight.

'You can't dance and stay uptight' indeed.

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

"It just doesn't make too much sense, if you ask me," Melanie says. She's not terribly worried about it, but it's been on her mind for a while now. "Jon feeds from you now, Helen has me or Tim in her corridors sometimes, I don't think I've ever seen Tim feed... I thought these things forced you to hurt people. Like the Slaughter did with me."

"I don't think anyone really knows, firecracker. The entities don't come with a manual, no matter how many old idiots have tried to write one." Gerry taps her knee softly with something cold and hard, and Melanie wraps her hand around the cider can. "Jon still has statements sometimes, so he and Helen are still feeding off of other's fear. My best guess is that Tim is feeding the Desolation with his own."

"What's Tim afraid of?" Melanie arches an eyebrow, taking a sip of her drink. It's both sweet and tart on her tongue, a good contrast to the bowl of salty chips Gerry placed on her lap when they came to sit at the garden.

"Jon, mostly," Gerry grunts. "Or rather, Jon mourning the way he was before. The Desolation is about sorrow and loss too, and those two have enough of that."

"Wow, I didn't know you were still so bitter about him ruining your first date." Melanie hides her grin behind the can; she can practically see Gerry rolling his eyes from the scoff he gives next.

"I think I'm allowed to be wary of an avatar of the Desolation holding a grudge against Jon."

"Or thinking he does."

"Or thinking he does," Gerry agrees. "What I'm saying is- I don't think even the avatars themselves know how this works, asides from 'feed your entity or you'll have a bad time'. What Gertrude and Dekker knew, what I thought I knew- even what the Eye lets me Know now is very limited when it comes to this."

"What about Martin?" Melanie asks.

"What about him?" Gerry asks right back, his voice careful. Melanie rolls her eyes.

"Does he feed too?"

"Not quite," Gerry says quietly after a moment. "He's neither here nor there, you know? Lukas forced him into the Lonely, but then he chose it himself. He's like Basira, or you when you had the bullet, only there's nothing to pull out of him to fix it."

The disappointment at this fact is clear in his voice, and Melanie remembers once again the kind of person her friend is.

"I'm sure having you helps." She shrugs. "All of us, I suppose."

Including herself in it feels weird, but right. Georgie's laugh comes through the window, mixed with Jon and Martin's quieter chuckles, and a crackly radio playing old classic rock. The garden smells like moist dirt and the cool, crisp highland air, and she can hear Gerry digging around with what she guesses must be a spade.

"I wanted to kill you when I first met you, you know?" she blurts out. And now I'm here sitting with you while you work on your dumb little garden, she thinks, but doesn't say.

"I did get that impression, I don't know why. The knife, maybe." Gerry chuckles, and his spade thuds on the ground before he comes to sit against the wall with her, bumping their shoulders together. "I'm glad you didn't."

"Yeah." Melanie goes to take another sip of her cider to soothe her suddenly dry throat. She knocks her foot against Gerry's leg. "Yeah, me too."

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

What with his mother, his general insecurities and the whole 'comiting to the embodiment of loneliness' thing, Martin has had very few opportunities to live with people in his adult life. He's surprised to find that he likes it, despite the constant itch of frustration coming from the bits of the Forsaken buried feel within him.

There's something to be said about hearing Gerry whistling to himself as he works on the garden, or waking up from a nap to the scent of whatever Jon is cooking for supper.

There is notoriously less to be said for stepping on a wet towel at four in the morning when he's just trying to go into the bathroom to pee.

"Gerry!" he snaps, trying to keep his voice to a whisper because even if Jon isn't asleep or even in the room right now, it's four in the morning.

"Martin? What happened?" Gerry asks a second after, his voice just the slightest bit shaky still, which Martin would take pride on at any other time. "Are you okay?"

"Why do you insist on leaving your wet towels on the floor?"

"...Oh. Sorry?" Martin can practically hear Gerry's sheepish smile. "In my defense, I mostly lived in motel rooms?"

"Yes, and then you lived with Jon for like seven months." Martin rolls his eyes, straightening back up. "I'm going to have to do something about it."

"Oh, are you? What will you- oompf!" Gerry's low, teasing voice is cut short when the balled up damp towel finds its mark, and Martin closes the door to the bathroom with a satisfied smile.

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

"We should start thinking of what we're going to do, I think." There's something to Martin's voice when he says it that gets Gerry into high alert mode immediately, which is a bit ridiculous, considering they're standing in front of the produce rack at the farm shop while Jon chooses some vegetables.

"About what?" Gerry asks.

"Well mostly I-" Martin stops and clears his throat. "I just-"

Martin stops again, this time with a little chuckle that sounds more nervous than amused. Jon turns around, eggplant in hand and eyebrow raised questioningly.

"Martin?"

"This is probably the weirdest way I've asked 'what are we?' in my life," Martin says after a couple seconds, shaking his head with a smile. "But mostly- are we staying here? At the cottage, I mean."

Oh.

"We can't keep living off of our savings, and I somehow doubt Elias is going to keep paying me and Jon a regular salary," Martin continues far more casually now that he got past the initial awkwardness, seemingly unaware of Gerry's brain blanking. "It does get a lot cheaper with the two of you not needing to eat, but I should probably try and get a job to, you know, feed myself and the like. I guess my question is if you'd rather stay here or go back to London or...?"

Gerry feels his eyebrows raise as what Martin is asking slowly rains down on him. It's- it's one thing to entertain his normal, boring life fantasies, and another one completely to hear someone else voice them.

"Hm. I suppose we do have to return to London eventually, to help look for Daisy." Jon taps his bottom lip with the eggplant's stem. "Whether we stay there or not is another matter entirely, I suppose. I don't really have a preference, Gerry-"

"The carrots won't be ready to harvest until next year," Gerry blurts out when they both turn to look at him. It feels important, for some reason.

These past three months have been a dream, so pleasant and calm Gerry has caught himself thinking on more than one occasion that maybe- maybe he's done, and he can rest now, here at the end of the world with these two.

Maybe he's earned this.

Jon and Martin are still staring at him, the former's eyes are gleaming with something that looks like fondness, and the latter's got a hand up to hide his grin.

"I mean- we can go wherever-" as long as they're together, that is, but he's not about to say that, not after using carrots as his excuse. "Just-"

"He does have a point, Martin." Jon interrupts him with a shrug, coming closer to slot himself under Gerry's arm.

Martin nods sagely. "We can't just leave the carrots."

"Stop," Gerry snorts, shaking his head as Martin comes to lay a kiss on his forehead. I guess that's a yes on the job hunting, then. I could try to get something too."

"Huh." Martin blinks, and his shoulders shake with a little huff of laughter. "Gerry, I think you might be the one person on earth whose CV could look worse than mine, even with the unverifiable previous job."

"What a blast of an interview though, can you imagine? 'It says here you haven't had a job since... Pinhole Books around ten years ago?' 'well yes, I was off stopping terror rituals and killing people, and then I was dead for four years, but I got better.' "

"I think I'd hire you just for having the guts to lie like that," Jon says from under his arm, before accusingly pointing the eggplant at Martin. "And your previous job is hardly unverifiable. I actually think your previous boss would give you a sparkling review."

"The one you killed after he put me in a nightmare dimension?" Martin asks, an eyebrow arched and his lips curled into an amused grin.

"I'm trying to flirt with you, sir," Jon deadpans. His voice has the light, tangy aftertaste of his bittersweet jokes, and Gerry squeezes him a bit against his side.

Martin's grin turns pleased as his face colors slightly, which makes Gerry smile when he realizes Martin was just fishing for the confirmation.

"I could give you a recommendation letter too." Gerry tangles his fingers in Martin's free hand. "Martin Blackwood? Overqualified for any job you throw at him, his only areas of opportunity are the occasional arson in work premises and the fact that he's very bad at keeping people out of his office."

"Certain people," Martin says, butting his forehead against Gerry's with a smile.

"You two are ridiculous," Jon chuckles. "Let's get home already."

Home, the word rings in his chest like a bell, like the heart he wasn't given back but feels the pull of at every waking moment.

"Yeah. Let's go home."

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

The creature -it is shaped like a human, but the hunter knows better, can smell the monster in it- squirms and thrashes in its jaws, though what end it hopes to achieve is a mystery to the hunter, because the only thing it gets for its trouble is for said jaws to clench down tighter around it, until yellowed, long fangs pierce skin and stain red.

It tastes like dirt.

The hunter despises the taste of dirt, and even more so the feeling of it sliding down its throat, far too evocative of another time, another life that might as well have lasted forever, were it not for the prey it let escape, that for some reason came back and clung to it as tightly as the hunter now clings to its newest victim.

Deep down in the hunter's chest something sparks to life at the thought, the memory of thin hands pulling at it even as pointed stones dug into their skin. The prey has a name, or at least it used to.

The hunter shakes its head, trying to rid it if the useless, confusing thoughts.

It too had a name one day, but that does not matter now. It is the hunter, and what it does is to chase, to kill.

It lets go of the broken body between its jaws, just as another scent drifts into its nose.

The hunter changes tracks, and starts the chase again, leaving behind any thoughts of previous prey, named or not.

Jon sighs, blinking the black and white and red of Daisy's vision away.

It's nothing new, he had an inkling of what he'd See even before he looked, but it still hurts. With each day that Daisy passes under the thrall of the Hunt her mind grows more and more distant, far from any reach they could have.

They need to go back to London soon. Between himself, Basira and Gerry, they might be able to pin Daisy's location before she bounces again.

It hurts. Jon is more than aware that after so much fighting to become something else, what dragged Daisy back into the pit she promised to not to return was her fondness for him.

The darkness in the room recedes a little when he opens his eyes again, the green glow casting eerie, menacing shadows out of every unassuming object, like trying to convince Jon he's not the most dangerous being to ever sit in this living room.

Down the little corridor come the sounds of Martin's soft snoring and whatever it is that Gerry's mumbling in his sleep, and Jon sighs. The tape recorder still runs somewhere in the living room, waiting perhaps for a declaration.

"I'm- I'll breach the topic with them tomorrow." He says in the end. Talking to the tapes has always felt grounding. "We just have to find Daisy, and then we'll be free to come back here for however long we want."

For the time being... there's no use in worrying, Jon guesses.

Out the corner of his eye he catches Martin's notebooks on his little table by the window, and he feels his lips arching into a smile despite himself.

They've come a long way from Jon fishing out discarded poetry from garbage bins, he thinks to himself as he pulls one of the notebooks. Thankfully, Martin has said he doesn't mind them reading his things as long as he isn't in the room, so this will make for a nice distraction.

"Good things", Jon reads aloud from the page he opens at random, which he notices has a lot less crossed out sections than the others. Apparently Martin found his words pretty easily after a few stumbles at the beginning. "You'll- you'll have to forgive me, Martin," he tells the recorder, chuckling. "I've never had a voice for poetry, in my opinion. But I'll leave it to the jury to decide."

He clears his throat, holding the notebook open with two fingers, Martin's neat, tight handwriting illuminated in green.

'Good things, by Martin K. Blackwood.

There is something interesting to be said About things that come in threes.

Like coins in a fountain rings to a circus, or stars to Orion's belt, Like three acts parts to a story that is not finished yet.

Why is it that three's a crowd, yet Good things come in three's? People always say hello, Jon. My apologies for interrupting whatever it was that our mutual acquaintance managed to sneak this into, but I thought it better to let her arrange the delivery as she saw fit.

Hopefully this finds you alone; I shouldn't speak ill of a gift from our patron, especially with how well he served his purpose, but as useful as he's been in keeping you alive and encouraging you to develop your powers, your dear Gerard is quite adept at getting in the way, no doubt he gets it from Gertrude. Though I do suppose I should stop underestimating Martin by this point, shouldn't I?

I must admit, I neither expected nor wished to watch him walk out of the fog with you. It is far too late in the game for unwanted variables, but by this point I suppose I must simply sit back and hope that the Mother's blessing is enough to keep him out of my designs.

By this point I suppose you have attempted to stop reading, I don't recommend it, you will only hurt yourself. I thought your little retreat had lasted enough already, and you could use some help getting back into the flow of work.

Let us begin then, just one more, for old times sake.

Statement of Jonah Magnus regarding Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.

[psyleedee]

Sweet, Spice and Everything Not Nice.

(Inspired by the iconic™ hot chilli Jen/Danneel/Misha moment but Destiel).

dean/castiel, secret relationship, accidental coming out, crack, humor, implied blowjobs, poor sammy.

-2k words.

-psyleedee.

There's a new diner opened up just a mile away from the Bunker, and already, Dean has heard so much about it. Last Tuesday, when he went for a milk run and stumbled into Ms. Davey, she was strangely keen about the new chilli poppers the diner was serving. Dean had smiled and brushed her off with a sure, I'll try it out, and he'd gone his way. Come Thursday, he'd stumbled into Chris, the local pawn shop owner, and they'd fallen into easy conversation, before Chris had spoken up about the diner. Said they had the best damn chilli poppers he'd ever seen. Dean didn't need anymore convincing.

Turns out Sam did.

And after weeks of goading Sam and riling him up to the point where he slammed a fist on the table and said Jesus Christ, Dean, you say the word chilli poppers again and I'll shove one right up your ass, Dean had succeeded. So what if it meant his dignity had crumbled to ash? At least he'd get to eat some good, greasy food, the one he's been craving for so long.

Besides, he oughta' take Cas out on a date too.

Ever since they ended up drunk in bed one long, fateful night ago, things have been slightly different between the two of them. For starters, they smile at each other a lot. Even when they're not looking at each other in tandem. They always end up on the same side of the couch or the dining table, thighs pressed together, hands brushing. They argue a lot, over the most mundane things, like washing the dishes or doing the laundry, but sometimes, after a hunt, when Dean is gushing blood, there will be this one broken glint in Castiel's eyes when he tries to heal him. And that night, they'll make slow, gentle love in Dean's car, away from the rest of the world.

However, there's a slight catch.

Sam doesn't know. He knows nothing. At least Dean hopes so.

And hey, not like they're trying to hide stuff from Sam, 'cause come on, they're practically breathing up each other's neck with only the three of them in the bunker, but it's just that Dean has a specific plan in his mind.

A plan about coming out to his brother. And it'll be heartfelt, of course, 'cause this is not just him establishing his relationship with Castiel, but also him coming out as bisexual. Sure, forty's a little late to figure out your sexuality, but better late than never, yeah?

So that's how it goes.

Maybe they can have a nice, brotherly chat over beer and chilli poppers.

"So, here we are. At last," Castiel says, as they stand against the Impala, all three of them, studying the creaky wooden sign which reads: Donny's Diner– home to the famous Habanero Chilli Poppers.

Okay. They're at the right place then.

"Habanero? Is that like, hotter than jalapeños or somethin'?"

Dean asks, as he stuffs his hands into the pocket of his jacket, and glances at his brother.

"I don't know," Sam says, so Dean turns to Cas, who almost passes as a rugged, buff lumberjack with the way Dean's flannel and AC/DC shirt hug his chest. He has his arms folded across him, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes as he studies the diner.

"I was too busy leading armies in Heaven to really pay attention to the chillies on earth."

"God," Dean sighs, exasperated, "-just say no."

Castiel's lips twitch in the slightest of amusement, and Dean hates the smug look spread across Castiel's face.

Okay, fine, he loves it.

Whatever.

"Let's go eat some fucking chilli poppers," Sam sighs, and Dean, ever ready, follows behind him. Castiel joins them, and all three men enter the diner, which in truth, is a normal, rustic style place. The tables are wooden, the chairs quite simple, a single order station at the front, and a few women, dressed in black shirts and jeans, running around with trays in their hands. It seems casual and laid-back, just the way Dean likes a diner to be, and at once, he quirks his bottom lip, already impressed by the minimal decor and the light chatter in the diner.

"Hi!"

Both Cas and Dean jump a little at the loud, enthusiastic, squeaky voice from in front of them, and standing before them is a young, short woman, with a pixie cut and cute, black-rimmed glasses on her nose. She reminds Dean of a high schooler. Maybe she is.

"Erm, hey."

"I'm Dana, and I'll be your server today. Follow me please, I'll grab you guys a seat."

Dean smiles at her, and the trio follows her along to a booth at the corner of the room. Sam slides in one side, while Castiel and Dean slip in across him. Dana allows them to settle for a moment before piping up again. Seriously this girl has got some real hard enthusiasm for a waitress.

"So, do you guys have anything in mind already? Since a lot of people come in here for the poppers, but if you want, I can get you the menu."

Dean shares a look with Sam. Dean shares a look with Cas.

We'll have the poppers. Oh, and uh, Dana, are the poppers uh, spicy? Like, reeealll spicy? Or spicy spicy?"

Dana chuckles, and shrugs.

"On a scale of one to ten, I'd say a solid eight. But you don't need to try them if you don't want to. We have normal jalapeño poppers. Those aren't as spicy."

"We'll have the really spicy ones, since Dean has been so insistent about them," Castiel says, and the waitress nods. He turns to Dean with a challenging spark in his eyes, "-or are you scared, Dean? I mean, you haven't been known to be quite tolerant towards chillies."

"Shaddup," Dean grumbles, and watches as Sam sends him a silly look, before turning to the waitress.

"The habanero poppers, please."

Sam smiles, and the waitress walks away with a brief nod.

Dean turns back to Sam, who fixes him a dry glare, before turning to Cas.

"Alright, I'm gonna' go use the restroom for a minute," He says, and glances at Dean, after which he proceeds to slide out of the booth and walk away.

Alone at last.

Dean shifts his weight onto a single thigh and turns in his seat to face Castiel. Castiel looks at him with a soft, tender expression, before reaching out to twine their fingers together.

"Are you happy, Dean?"

"'Course I am, Cas. Are you?"

"With you I always am."

"Sap."

"I prefer the term honest."

A smile spreads across both of their faces, before Dean leans in, and presses his lips to Castiel's, who melts at once, giving in to Dean, hands grazing Dean's jaw as they kiss, tender, longing, passionate, hot... Okay too hot, abort, abort.

Dean clears his throat and backs away, glancing around the diner to find a few curious pair of eyes on them, and he sends each one a glare, linking his arm around Castiel's back to show them what's theirs. Castiel shakes bis head with a hopeless smile, and steals a peck off Dean's lips, just in time, since Sam returns not a moment later.

Dean jerks his hand away. Castiel seems a bit hurt.

"So, what'd I miss?"

"Nothing," Castiel scoffs, and looks away, setting his chin on his fists on the table.

Sam looks between Dean and Castiel, and as much as Dean hates the way Sam is suspicious, he doesn't say much.

Patience, Sammy, patience. Dean's going to come out soon. He promises. Or something.

Dana returns just in time to soothe the rising tension at the table, and at once, the prominent scent of spices, oil, and chilli wafts around them, tickling Dean's nostrils in the best of ways, and he follows his nose to find a steaming, hot plate of sizzling habanero poppers held in Dana's hand. There's almost eight to nine poppers on the plate, and each one looks downright delectable.

"Alright, I would advise you to grab yourself some water, because these can be very spicy, and we don't want another paramedic in this diner."

"You have a paramedic in this diner?"

Dean asks, incredulous as he stares at the plate of poppers.

Dana laughs. "Uh-huh, over there, that's Kenny, he's the medic."

"Woah."

Castiel sighs, and watches as the waitress sets the tray down before them.

"Anything else I can get you? Besides a huge jug of water?"

Dana smirks, and all three men gulp at once, eyes fixed to the plate of poppers.

Man up, Winchester.

"Nothing, honey."

Dean smiles, and Dana returns it before walking away.

Now.

The poppers.

Before Dean can even speak, both Sam and Castiel are swiping their hands at one, holding it up and staring down at it.

"Guys, I don't think that's it's a good idea to–"

Gone. The poppers are gone. The ones in Sam's and Castiel's hand? Gone. In their mouths.

Dean stares, wide eyed, awestruck, torn between looking at Sam and Castiel, but then–

"Oh my god," Castiel gasps, mouth stuffed full, chewing on the popper, and Dean watches as his fists clench on the table.

Yup. Dean is not touching those poppers with a ten-foot pole.

"Jesus," Sam mutters, and holy shit, the guy's actually red, and fuck, so is Cas, they're literally burning red at the cheeks and the nose, and Sam's drooling, wiping his nose, there's tears at his eyes, Castiel is swatting the table, groaning, tears streaming down his face as he chews on the popper–

This is a fuckfest.

"Dude, what's happening?"

Dean yelps, shrinking away from his brother and boyfriend, as they pant, gasp and cry.

"Hot, hot, hot– too hot," Sam cries out, and Dean almost feels bad for the bugger. Serves them for being impatient.

"Dean, oh my god, argh, hot, hot, this is the hottest thing I've ever put in my mouth?!"

Castiel screams out, banging his fist on the table, and yes, Dean knows the time isn't right, but obviously Castiel has had hotter things in his mouth before, and those things are sitting right next to him, so how dare he.

"Excuse me?" Dean scoffs, to which Castiel sends him a dry, enraged glare.

"Food, Dean! Food."

Castiel squawks, and slaps the table, but a loud, deafening yelp catches both of their attention.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!"

Sam bellows, and oh. Oops.

"I don't wanna' listen to you talk about your sex life when I'm literally dying?! Dean, what the fuck are you sitting for, ask for some water?!"

Wow. This Sam is... Not nice.

Dean falters, trapped between two impatient, burning, overreacting men, and he rises up from his seat, watching as Dana scurries towards them with a water jug, but she doesn't even have a moment to react before Castiel is snatching it out of her hands and oh, oh god.

Castiel holds the jug above his face, and Dean jumps away from the table as the water gushes out, pouring into his mouth, over his shirt, everywhere, and before Castiel can even quench his thirst, Sam is grabbing the jug, pouring it over his face just like Castiel, the water drizzling every where, and a horrified, stricken Dean simply glances up at Dana, who seems... Strangely calm.

"Oh, it's more common than you think. I'm used to it," She says, and Dean wonders vaguely, if they're paying her enough for this, before providing help in the most menial form ever, by tossing his handkerchief to Castiel.

"You, Dean, are not getting away with this. You're the reason we almost died?!"

He growls, and yanks Dean onto the chair.

"Dude, I didn't ask you to pop it into your mouth literally a second after it came out."

Dean yells, shrugging away in defense, when a loud gasp draws their attention to Sam.

"You guys are fucking each other?"

Oh. Uhm. Cat's out.

"Yes, we're fucking each other, Sam, now could you pass that jug over here?"

Dean stares at the two of them, completely normal, going about passing the between the two of them.

That was... Not how he planned on coming out. Nope.

"Yeah, uh, Sam, Cas and I are dating. And uhm, I'm bi."

Sam shrugs, and holds the jug above his face, when it seems to click him.

"Wait. Was I not supposed to know that?"

Dean rolls his eyes.

"No, you weren't. How'd you know?"

Sam laughs.

"I don't know, maybe the oh my god, faster Dean, or the oh, you feel so good, coming from your room each night might have something do with it."

Dean blushes. Hard. Too hard. Castiel doesn't seem the slightest bit bothered. I mean, well, save for the water he's practically guzzling down.

"Whatever."

Dean grunts, and slides back in next to Castiel, who pushes the jug away, and slumps back against the booth.

Silence follows both Sam and Castiel's heavy pants.

Only for Castiel to grin again.

"That was awesome, I'm trying another."

[need-a-fugue]

Sun’s Coming Up

Pairing: Sam x Natasha

Summary: The entire takedown plot that Sam, Natasha and Steve conjure – and eventually follow through with – in Captain America: Winter Soldier is pretty complex. Let’s be real. Could they have done all of that in just one day? Sure. Maybe. But I like to think they’re all human enough to at least have needed a night in between the planning and execution. To relax. And regroup. And, maybe, blow off some steam…

Warning: Ummmmm… smuty-ish.

A/N: Nothing like waiting ‘til the absolute last minute... In these final moments of Samtember, I give you some Sam-centric smut.

The guestroom had only ever been used by his mom and his sister, their trips down to DC running like clockwork every four months. I hate thinking about my baby here all alone, being both the first and last words out of his mother’s mouth each and every time she passed through that doorway. He’s fine, mama, muttered amid a dramatic eyeroll by his kid sister always quickly following suit.

Sam had never thought – not in a million years – that the only other guest to lay between those cheap-ass sheets would be Captain freakin’ America.

“Not sure if I should throw them in the wash once you all leave, or sell ‘em on eBay,” he muses to Natasha as he shows her to his room.

The redhead stops in his doorway and leans her hip into the jamb, arms folded stoically over her chest as she watches him hurriedly grab a few things for himself – a phone charger and a beat-to-hell paperback from the bedside table, a pair of shorts and a T-shirt from the bureau in the corner. “I’d see what you can get for them,” she tells him with a shrug. “You might as well get something out of all this.”

He snorts out a quick laugh and turns to face her, head ducked, expression seeming almost a bit shy. “Who says I’m not getting anything out of this?”

Her green eyes narrow assessingly and rove the full length of his body, a suspicious note to her otherwise unreadable expression. Unreadable. In just the handful of hours Sam’s known this woman – this superspy – that’s the one and only thing that he’s really been able to discern about her. She is utterly unreadable.

“Well,” he breathes out, eager to break through her scrutiny. “I guess I’ll… leave you to it.” He raises a single brow, corner of his mouth cocked in a sly, crooked grin. “Do not go looking around in those drawers,” he intones, angling his head back towards the bed and the small side tables that flank it. “Wouldn’t want you to get any ideas about me.”

Her lips lift and lengthen into a cunning smirk that mirrors his own. “You invite a spy into your home, you invite her into your drawers too.”

Again, he ducks his head, an almost bashful sheen washing over his face amid the wide smile, a quick laugh offered to cover the sound of his breath catching in his throat.

Cute. That’s all Natasha can think as she looks at him, watching this man – who had been brazen enough to cock a flirtatious brow at their first meeting, trusting enough to allow two fugitives into his home, brave enough to help put together a doomed plan that’ll likely end with all of them either dead or in prison – timidly chuckle and sway in front of her.

Sam clears his throat and looks up, his deep brown eyes snapping onto hers and holding tight for a long, silent moment. Then, “I’ll be out on the couch, if you need anything,” slips from his lips in a slow, languid, painfully deep tenor as he steps forward and attempts to glide past her and out the bedroom door.

He hears the small gasp – tiny trapped breath – pull from her lungs a mere fraction of a second before he feels her fingers wrap around his wrist. Her hand clenches briefly, a firm, almost desperate spasm pressed into his flesh. Then it loosens, the pad of each finger resting delicately upon him. He looks, his eyes veering down to see those lithe fingers holding to him.

“I feel bad,” she says then, soft words spilling into the small space between them. Her stare falls, eyes unable to meet his as she shrugs and utters, “Big day tomorrow… I don’t know that you’ll get the best quality sleep out on that couch.”

His gaze travels slowly, beginning at her hand, still wrapped neatly around his wrist. Then up her arm, clad in the old sweatshirt he’d let her borrow when an inadvertent chill coursed through her at dinner. On to her neck, smooth and pale and achingly flawless. Up further, grazing along pouty lips, high cheekbones. And then to those eyes. He locks onto her emerald eyes, the indifferent, blasé air he’d been seeing all day now utterly gone. In its place is a gleaming want. A perfectly discernible – readable – desire.

“You know,” he croons, the cute, bashful demeanor from mere moments ago swiftly twisting into a brazen look, a seemingly unflappable stance that – admittedly – gives her a moment’s pause. The kind and helpful acquaintance Steve had dragged her to meet this morning is gone. Now, it’s a staunch and confident pararescue soldier looming before her. And damn if that doesn’t cause a thrilling shock to shoot up her spine. “I don’t know that I’m really all that ready for sleep right now anyway.”

She smiles – smirks, really – and gives him a sharp tug back into the room before gently closing the door behind him. “Super speed, super strength, and super hearing,” she mutters, still facing the door as he backs up to the bed and drops his armful of belongings onto it. She turns and cocks a brow. “You think you can keep from waking the old man across the hall?”

He steps slowly – purposefully – towards her, coming to a stop just as their sock-clad toes touch, breath mingling into a steamy air between them. “You’re the one who’ll be making all the noise, baby girl,” he muses thickly as he leans in, lips brushing along her jaw, goatee barely tickling her chin.

She grins despite herself, crooked and clever. “Don’t call me that,” spills from her lips in a single, hot breath just as his fingers land on her chin and tick it up so that their mouths meet.

Natasha’s hands slowly wind into the hem of Sam’s shirt, tugging at it for the briefest of moments before opting to release the soft, worn fabric and instead glide up beneath it, supple fingertips and biting nails raking along the smooth, hard planes of his abs. She feels him smile into her, his lips pulling taut as they continue to press into hers. The smallest, breathiest chuckle slips out of him and into her open, waiting mouth just before he leans back, parting from her only long enough to shoot her a rather smug look. His hands drop from her face – a cold, dreary void left in their wake – and move to cover those nimble fingers splayed across his center. “All you had to do was ask,” he mutters before swiftly tearing off his shirt, tossing it to a corner, and shuffling backwards, towards the bed.

The moment his legs make contact with the mattress, he lets his knees buckle, body dropping heavily atop the perfectly made bed, tight military corners keeping the comforter from moving beneath him at all. Natasha looms in front of him. Over him. A hooded quality to her eyes, drunken look despite not having had a single drink. Drunk on him. On this.

She rips off the oversized sweatshirt that had been burying her heady chills all night – the world always beginning to feel like Siberia, like tundraesque Russia, in the hours before a particularly challenging mission – and she throws it to the floor. Sam’s fingers rise up to snake beneath the hem of her tank top, his light, delicate touch shooting an entirely different sort of chill out along each and every one of her nerves. She’s about to tug the top off altogether, her own hands falling atop his to do so, when he swiftly grabs her by the hips and pulls her down to straddle his lap.

Another gasp – so much like the first he heard slip past her lips – but longer, more fluid, a purposeful release rather than a surprised sputter of a breath. It tumbles out of her as he reaches around and splays both palms wide on her back.

The warmth at the base of her spine, the heat that he trails slowly up to the bottom ridge of her shoulder blade, causes a fire to ignite in her gut. Lower. A steadily burning flame that sizzles through her core, flickers and shoots down between her thighs.

Yes. This is what she needs. A fire to combat that icy chill… the one that made its home in her bones so long ago. The one that fills her veins with ice crystals wide enough to choke off the flow of blood any time a fight blooms on the horizon.

Natasha scoots closer, powerful legs – because this woman is a beast, he’s quickly reminded – squeezing Sam’s hips as she presses nearer. A low rumble, an almost feral growl builds in his chest and slips from his lips into her skin as he drops his head to press fervid kisses along the length of her clavicle. Down the center of her breastbone. Pressing through the thin fabric at the top of her shirt.

She shoves back, palms on his shoulders, legs squeezing tighter to maintain her balance – the crush of her around him nearly shorting out his brain, leaving nothing but touch and feel and breathe in lieu of doubt and shock and hope – as she tugs off the tank top. He gets barely a moment to register the silkiness of her nude bra before she reaches around and easily flicks the clasp, shimmying out of it and tossing it aside as well.

Another growl, low and fierce. But his eyes are light and his lips are raised at the corners, showing off that confident, oddly soothing grin that’s called to her off and on throughout the day. She stares down at him, catching a glint in his eye as he brings a hand up along her ribs, each fingertip idly tapping the row of bones as he goes. Barely, barely, he cups her breast. It’s a ghost of a touch, a delicate hold that feels equal parts reverential and teasing. And it causes her to positively writhe atop him.

He smirks, knowing exactly what a well-rehearsed, subtle stroke can do. And he extends his thumb, grazes her nipple – back and forth in an achingly slow arc – the pacing almost hypnotic.

And something inside of Natasha’s always-on, ever-plotting, so damn controlled mind just… snaps.

“Oof,” Sam lets out, a surprised grunt blowing out of him as she shoves him to the bed and drops heavily atop him. “Well, now…” he barely metes out amid a stuttering chuckle as he feels her breasts press into his chest, her lips suckling almost violently at a chosen spot behind his ear.

Her right hand moves down, fingers trailing along his ribs in a touch far more ardent and hasty than the one he had just laid upon her. There’s a sharp pop as her mouth leaves his skin, a soft click in the back of her throat as she issues out a swift breath. “I dare you to make me scream,” she says then, the feverish whisper burrowing into his ear.

“What happened to not waking the old man down the hall?” he asks, the words barely making it out before her fingers slide down beneath his sweatpants – beneath the elastic of his boxers – causing his breath to stutter and stop.

“I said I dare you,” she mumbles into him as her teeth pinch his earlobe, tongue then taking off to dart down the length of his jaw. She pulls up just a bit, just enough to be able to capture his lust-blown eyes with her newly clever and playful gaze. “I never said you’d be able to do it.”

He reaches down to still her hand just as her fingers reach the hilt of him. “No faith,” he chides with that same damn grin that has all her qualms melting away.

She pauses her ministrations for a beat of a moment, taken aback by what his smile does to her. Does for her. It makes her feel soft and warm and… sated. So far removed from the familiar sharp, bitter cold that typically resides within.

It’s foreign. It’s thrilling. It’s terrifying.

She slides her hand from his, slips it further down and wraps her fingers around the length of him, promptly regaining control. “I know more ways to stealthily, silently kill a man than you know ways to simply die,” she intones, piercing green eyes locked onto his as she gives him a small squeeze and lightly trails her thumb along the underside of his cock.

“Sweet talk,” he murmurs languidly. “You already got me as hard as I’m gonna get, baby girl.”

She smiles at that, continues the slow, purposeful stroke along his hardened length, revels in the guttural moan he lets loose as his hips buck. “Let’s be clear, flyboy,” she issues out in a breathy tone as her left hand rises to his cheek. She slowly drops her open palm, pressing it to the curve of his jaw as her thumb glides back and forth across his steadily bobbing throat. “If you tell anyone about this, you’ll learn one of my many ways.”

“Is this how spies do foreplay?” he asks, the words coming out sharp and clipped between short breaths despite the teasing intention. “Kinda works for me.”

Her chin drops to his chest, lips lowering to press a quick kiss to his breastbone before she utters, repeating his earlier words back to him in both a taunt and a reluctant admission, “Wouldn’t want anyone to get any ideas about me.”

He cranes his head as best he can to see her, getting little more than a blurred glimpse of bright red hair. “You embarrassed of me already, baby girl?”

“Maybe I just want to keep this all for myself, baby boy,” she states before puckering again at his flesh, her tongue darting out to scoop up a newly popped trail of sweet, salty sweat.

He twists a bit beneath her, pressing up into her hand while finally removing his own from its aimless position in his boxers and instead sliding it down beneath her panties. “Yesterday, I was just a vet running group at the VA,” he muses lightly as his middle finger slips easily between her soaking folds. Long and lean and seemingly well-practiced, his trailing touch lingers in an alternately firm and delicate swipe, effortlessly pulling a soft moan from the redhead atop him. “Now I’m a super spy’s dirty little secret.”

A sharp gasp tumbles past her lips to his ear as his finger dives deep into her, another smoothly, swiftly following suit. Natasha presses her forehead to his shoulder and gulps at the air for a quick moment before steeling herself enough to say, words pocked by choked breaths, “Nights are full of secrets.” She clamps tighter around him – around his fingers and around his cock – another firm stroke pulling as he pulses beneath her fingertips. And she throbs around his. “When the sun comes up, it’s all over and done.”

“We have that long?” he asks, a hint of mirth – of pure delight – to his voice.

“Just…” she starts, squirming atop him, her face falling to his chest, teeth catching on his flesh as a thick wave of pleasure courses through her. “Just… promise.”

His hips buck again, a wordless warning – a promise all its own – that he’s so damn close. “Promise what, baby girl?” he asks in a deep, strained tenor.

She wriggles a bit and shifts him in her grip, lining him up with her soaking, aching entrance. He stills beneath her, seemingly surprised, unsure for a lingering moment. “Now,” she breathes out into him. “Just… now. Only now,” the words condensing on his flesh alongside her hot, steamy breath. “And in the morning, forget it ever happened.”

“Uh huh,” is all he’s able to get out as he pulls his slick, glistening fingers from her and lets her guide him into that thick, wet heat.

“Promise?” she says, less a word than a whine. “Promise?” repeated a bit louder as he seats inside, her walls catching and clenching around him.

“Yeah, baby girl,” he sputters out, fingers pressing into her hips, rubbing raw lines into her skin. “Promise,” he agrees, a quick affirmation before he grips her tight and flips her round so she’s flat on her back. At his mercy. For once – finally – not quite in control.

000

He wakes slowly, one eye barely peeping open, just enough to see a hint of light slicing through the drawn curtains. A long, deep yawn inadvertently bellows out of him, his dry lips smacking around the tail end of it as he turns lazily onto his back. A flash of something catches his attention, a subtle motion from the corner of the bed.

He raises up onto his elbows and blinks thickly – once, twice, three times – before she comes into focus, disheveled red hair instantly imbued with static as she pulls his old sweatshirt on over her head. “Hey,” he bleats out, voice heavy with sleep. “Going already?”

“Steve’ll be up soon,” she mutters, tone an odd mix of tender and indifferent. A deflating sort of sigh slips past her lips as her eyes tick off towards the window, then over at him. She raises a single brow – cunning and playful both – and states simply, “The sun’s coming up.”

“Alright,” he lets out with a chuckle before slumping back to the mattress. “Alright.”

Natasha rises from the bed and tugs on her leggings from the night before. “Hey, flyboy,” she croons, crooked smile blossoming across her face when he glances up at her with a questioning brow raised. “Thanks.”

He flashes a smile of his own, wider and more confident in its glee than she would ever allow her own to be. “Don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout, Agent Romanov,” he says before stretching out every part of his body like a gently waking cat in the sun. “Big day ahead of us. Got a whole evil empire to snuff out.” He rolls onto his side and locks onto her eyes, shows off that kind, reassuring, soothing grin again. “Better get to it before the super soldier gets up and uses all the hot water.”

[cakesunflower]

Aeipathy [Prince!Calum AU] Part 1

Aeipathy: An enduring and consuming passion.

Summary: Who was to say Prince Calum couldn’t experience two consuming loves? He didn’t think so, but the universe may have different ideas.

Part 1

It was never the sound of crunching metal that had him gasping when he woke, nor was it the screech of shattering glass. Because that would be too easy. No, it was always the echo of her voice calling his name, a choked whisper ringing in his ears because there was glass lodged in her throat, and by the time he finally got to look at her despite the insurmountable level of pain throbbing through his body, it would be too late. She would be gone, her last breath of air exhaling in the form of his name, and Calum would never feel the thick curls of her dark hair between his fingers, nor would he see her deep green eyes that rivaled the finest gems again. Only glass and blood that would haunt him for years to come.

Just a nightmare he lived over and over again every night, only to wake up and realize reality was picking up where his subconscious left off.

Waking up in his own pool of cold sweat was never anything new, his heaving breath ringing in his ears as he stared up at the spinning blades of the fan on the high ceiling of his room. But they could never hypnotize him back into slumber, and so Calum kicked off his comforters and trudged to the ensuite bathroom. He moved as if he was in a trance, taking off his boxers and turning on the shower, stepping in only when the steam began filling up the bathroom. The hot water threatened to melt off his skin, but that was how Calum liked it; so he stood under the shower head, feeling the scorching water sear into the top of his head and into every inch of his skin. Maybe he’d even hear it sizzling, like oil in a pan, if the spray of water wasn’t so loud. But he deserved it. It was only fair.

It was when he stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, that Calum allowed himself to look into the mirror once he wiped the steam off of it. The face staring back at him wasn’t one he quite recognized; his brown skin, especially his face, was flushed with the heat of the shower, but there was no hiding the circles that had found home under his dreary, vacant eyes. Even his blonde hair seemed unrecognizable, buzzed short because there had been a time after the accident where all he did was run his anxious fingers through his curls, only to tug at them hard enough to rip some strands right out of his skull. With this cut, nothing came into his grasp.

He moved around his chambers slowly, pulling out his clothes from the closet and putting them on. Calum barely jumped when the alarm on his phone went off, and he briefly allowed himself to wonder why he even bothered setting one up when his subconscious had a wake up call of its own for him. He snoozed it just as his stomach rumbled, and Calum briefly debated if he was willing to get food.

But then his stomach twisted at the notion of not feeding himself, and so he let out a sigh and walked to the double doors of his bedroom, creaking lightly as he pulled it open and stopped short at the sight of his mother. She looked ready to knock at the door, already dressed for the day in a custom made pantsuit. Calum paused, looking at his shorter mother expectantly, as she lowered her hand and clasped them both in front of her and smiled warmly.

“Good morning, love,” she greeted. “I was just coming to wake you.”

He pursed his lips at that. His mother hadn’t come to wake him up since he was a child, and that was perfectly fine. But ever since Daniella’s death, ever since Calum shut down and stopped being the prince his country knew and adored, his mother would often try to enter his room with a warm wake up call. And while Calum knew she was only worried for him, had been for the past year and a half, he wished she would stop hovering. Let him mourn and drown himself in guilt in peace.

“Was just goin’ to get myself some breakfast,” he answered, voice hoarse from sleep and exhaustion.

His mother’s smile widened, as if he’d suggested a great idea. “Brilliant,” she enthused, hands still linked together. “Join us, why don’t you? The King and Queen of Amorcor have arrived with their daughter and we’re eating out in the garden.”

The last thing Calum wanted to do was be in the company of others. Honestly, he hadn’t been good company to be around for a while; he couldn’t bring himself to even do any of his duties. Visiting the charities he commissioned, attending state dinners, welcoming dignitaries—Calum hadn’t entirely taken part in them for over a year. He tried, every now and then, to resume his royal duties. He had to, he was the prince, but it never seemed to work. He would try and then he’d ask himself what the fuck was the point, and find solace in his room.

Again, he would try to. There was no peace in a world without Daniella.

So he clenched his jaw and told his mother, “I think I’ll just grab an apple from the kitchen.”

“Nonsense,” his mom said with a subtle frown. When Calum let out a sharp breath through his nose, looking utterly displeased and discontent with her insistence, Queen Joy pressed her lips together as a sympathetic expression crossed her face. It was a look Calum knew well, had been on the receiving end of a while. He was sick of it, of being looked at with complete pity. It wasn’t something he was used to until Daniella’s death; no one looked at him as if they sympathized with him, felt sorry for him. He was the Royal Prince of Eston, not someone to be pitied. “You must join us, love. It is your duty as the prince to welcome our guests. You’ve been neglecting your responsibilities for too long.”

Her words, though she probably didn’t mean to, boiled Calum’s blood. There was a tenseness in his muscles as his grip on the door handle tightened, dark eyes narrowing with a glare he couldn’t keep off his face. His mother instantly noticed the effect her words had on him, forehead smoothening in realization and lips parting to correct herself, but Calum cut in sharply, a cold edge in his voice, “I wasn’t aware there was a time limit as to how long a person was allowed to grieve.”

Joy let out a gentle sigh. “You know that isn’t what I meant, honey.” She reached her hand out, cupping Calum’s cheek and feeling the clench of his jaw under her touch. There was a maternal softness in her gaze as she looked up at her son, who always seemed to look so tired and so empty, her heart in a consistent state of pain knowing that he was so devastated. Knowing there wasn’t anything she could do to help. “Please, come join us. You and Princess Lydia were friends when you were younger. She’s sure to be looking forward to your company. Come, okay?” Her hand dropped to his shirt, wrinkled and not at all something a prince should be seen wearing, and she tugged at the material on his chest. “And put on something more dignified, sweetie.”

She didn’t give him much room to argue, turning and walking down the maroon carpeted hall. Calum remained where he stood, jaw tight as he exhaled sharply through his nose, wondering if he should actually listen to his mother. He quite frankly didn’t care for receiving the King and Queen of Amorcor, wasn’t particularly looking forward to keeping Princess Lydia company, even if they had been friends in their childhood. Her kingdom was a longtime ally of his, the friendship between their families starting generations before, but Calum hadn’t seen Lydia too much. She’d gone to London, last he heard, to study, and he’d gotten busy with his own life. With Daniella.

“Fuck,” he hissed, slamming the door shut behind him as he went back into his room, storming towards the closet. Calum reached to his back, ripping the shirt off and grabbing one of his favorite black tanks as he put that on, before proceeding to pull out one of his nicer dress shirts. His movements were forced, jerking, protesting his every action as he slid his arms through the sleeves of the white and black polka dot button down before tucking it into his pants. Looking at himself in the mirror of his dresser, Calum let out a heavy breath. He didn’t want to do this.

He made his way through the palace, greeted by the several staff working around, moving past them without a word or second glance. If they were insulted, they never let it show. Maybe they’d grown used to his ignorance to those around him, or the way he no longer returned the smiles that were offered to him. A shell of a man, that’s what he had been since his girlfriend’s death, that’s all he was capable of being. Not a prince.

The closer he got towards the back of the palace, approaching the glass doorway that led to the gardens, the clearer the sounds of people chattering became. The pleasant lull of conversation was mixed in with laughter, and Calum paused in the doorway as he looked ahead. Right before the expanse of garden was a stone patio, covered by a deep turquoise colored gazebo roof to shield them from the sun. Some of the palace staff moved around the table as they put down dishes and drinks the chef had prepared before standing off on the side in case they were needed, hands clasped behind their backs. Calum took in his parents, friendly smiles on their faces as his father sat on one end of the table, King Augustus of Amorcor on the other end. His mother’s and Queen Serena’s backs were to Calum as they sat on one side of the table, both sitting near their husbands, and Calum’s gaze then flickered to the single person sitting on the other side, her face clear in his view.

Princess Lydia sat, drinking a mimosa as her gaze remained on his father, listening to what he was saying before she lowered her glass to showcase the gentle smile on her delicate lips. That’s all that could be said about Lydia—delicate. Even when they were kids, she reminded Calum of a porcelain doll his grandmother used to collect; bright blue eyes and wispy blonde hair, cheeks always rosy. There was a certain look to her, one she’d always had even far before she’d discovered makeup, where she almost always seemed as if she was glowing. A perfect princess. She looked the same, just grown up since he last saw her, with a gold hoop as dainty on her nose as the rest of her.

Calum took another breath, gritting his teeth before he stepped outside. The sun felt hot on his skin as he approached the gazebo, his presence being picked up almost immediately as King Augustus lowered his glass and greeted brightly, “Prince Calum! How wonderful to see you again.”

All eyes were on him, as usual, and Calum merely offered a close mouthed smile to the visiting king, uncaring that he had stood up to greet him, presumably to shake his hand. But Calum walked around him and silently settled on the empty seat next to Lydia, right across from his mother, only briefly glancing up as he pushed his chair in to see his mum shoot him a disapproving look at his rude behavior. A prince greeted his guests respectfully, especially monarchs of an allied country, a rule Calum was well aware of yet, frankly, didn’t care for at this moment.

“You’ll have to forgive Calum,” his father spoke up quickly, gracefully swooping in to cover up for his son’s behavior. “You know him, not entirely a morning person,” King David added, chuckling. Calum could easily tell how forced it was.

King Augustus settled back in his seat, waving dismissively. He didn’t look insulted. Calum’s jaw clenched, grip on the arm rests of his chair tightening as a wry, bitter thought crossed through his mind. Maybe his dead girlfriend bought him a pass to be a royal dick.

                                                        *****

Lydia ate her pancakes quietly, only half listening to the conversations going on between the four kings and queens sitting at the table. Truthfully, the majority of her attention was on the prince sitting to her left, trying her best not to look over at him too often or too noticeably. It had been years since she’d last seen Prince Calum, someone she had at one point considered a good friend when they were younger, and he had. . . Changed.

Of course, since she hadn’t visited Eston nor had been in her own kingdom to receive Calum and his parents when they’d come to Amorcor, Lydia hadn’t seen much of Calum save for the pictures and videos she’d see on the Internet. They had grown apart when she left for London for boarding school, staying there to complete university, lost touch because they got lost in their own lives. He had grown from the last time she saw him.

Short blonde hair and a body he’d grown into, noticing the few tattoos visible on his hands and wrist. He was handsome, undeniably so, with a sharp jaw and full lips and long lashes that framed his dark eyes. But there was no hiding the sadness that was deep set in his features, in the tiredness of his eyes and the circles that rounded under them. Lydia recalled the prince always looking so lively, with full cheeks always flushed a healthy pink observant eyes always taking in his surroundings carefully. Now though, Lydia couldn’t help but note with a dull ache, there was an obvious vacancy in his eyes.

It was unsettling to see him like this even if she hadn’t seen him for years. From the moment he had stepped outside, his reluctance to being there clear as day, especially in the way he completely moved around her father, Lydia knew this wasn’t the same Calum she had once known. This man was sadder, emptier. Grieving.

And why wouldn’t he be? Lydia couldn’t imagine going through a loss such as the one he went through.

“So Lydia, is there anything you’re looking forward to doing during your stay in Eston?” The sound of Queen Joy’s voice had the princess pulling out of her own thoughts, gaze directing to the queen sitting next to her mother.

Her usual gentle smile returned to Lydia’s face, kind in practice, as she put down her fork. “I plan on visiting the sunflower gardens,” she responded, smile widening at the thought of the spot she hadn’t seen since she was a child. Eston had a grand field that was blooming with sunflowers, which happened to be her favorites, and Lydia used to pick some out for herself when she visited. “And I’m hoping to attend the lantern festival as well.”

“That sounds lovely,” Queen Joy smiled, hand wrapping around her own flute of mimosa. Her brown eyes slid over to her son, silently sitting across from her, as she added, “I’m sure Calum wouldn’t mind accompanying you. The two of you can catch up.”

Lydia looked at the blonde prince warily, not entirely sure he’d be up for it. She wasn’t oblivious, aware of the stories that had been surrounding the prince over the past year or so. Ever since his girlfriend’s death, it was a wonder if anyone outside of the palace got a glimpse of him. Calum had become sort of a recluse, never attending any of the events the palace threw, nor joining his parents on royal visits. He didn’t go out, didn’t speak much to anyone. Lydia doubted he’d want to spend time with her.

Her suspicions were proven correct when Calum instinctively let out a huff, a frown drawing together his dark brows as he said to his mother. “The hell I—”

The beginning of his sharp sentence wiped the smiles off of everyone’s faces, the hostility in his tone not lost on anyone as Lydia pursed her lips, pressing the tip of her tongue to the back of her bottom teeth as Queen Joy cut in, “This is not something up for debate.”

Her tone was final, heated stare directed at her son, the tension in the air thick as an uncomfortable silence fell upon them. Lydia’s eyes were slightly widened as she looked at Queen Joy before her gaze shifted to Calum, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he glared at his mother. Lydia’s stomach lurched in discomfort as the two were seemingly lost in an intense staring match, and she took in a breath as her gaze then shifted to her mother. She looked back at her, a knowing and surprised look in her blue eyes, before looking at Calum. Instead of being put off by the prince’s attitude, Lydia saw the sympathy melt in her eyes.

After a few more minutes of quiet, Calum let out a sharp scoff through his nose before pushing his chair out, the metal screeching against the stone and Lydia winced ever so slightly as he stood up. “Perfect,” he grunted, taking the napkin from his lap and tossing it at his half eaten plate. And then he was gone, disappearing back into the palace with broad shoulders and fists at his side.

Lydia looked around the table, at the looks his parents were exchanging, a mixture of exasperation and worry. The King David looked at her and her parents, offering an apologetic smile as he said, “We’re sorry about him. He. . . Hasn’t been the same since Daniella’s passing.”

“It’s understandable, your Majesty,” Lydia’s mother responded with a gentle smile. “Everyone’s grieves the loss of a loved one differently.” For a moment, Lydia allowed herself to feel grateful, on Calum’s behalf, that it was her family that was here and not any other. Not many might be so understanding of Calum’s behavior. It was lucky that her parents were so close with his.

Queen Joy sighed, giving a dejected shake of her head. “It doesn’t give him the excuse to lash out at those around him,” she said, the sadness in her tone obvious. Lydia felt her chest tighten, eyebrows drawn together tenderly. Her heart went out to Calum, whose grief still weighed heavily upon him, and his parents, who were clearly so worried for him that they did not know what to do. “I’m afraid he’s never going to move past this.”

“He will,” Lydia’s father assured, leaning back in his chair. “Either way, he will make a great king.”

King David pursed his lips, elbows propped on the table as he linked his hands in front of him. A somber expression crossed over his face as he said, “I’m not sure if he’s ready.” Lydia bit the inside of her cheek, playing with her fingers on her lap. She no longer felt like eating anymore, the topic of Calum and his state settling uneasily in her stomach. “He was to be coronated two months after the accident but of course it wasn’t the right time. Now I’m uncertain if he can be a king without a queen at his side.”

Lydia’s mother’s eyebrows drew together, head tilting elegantly as she asked, “I was under the impression it was not customary in Eston to have a ruling partner when being coronated?”

“It isn’t,” Queen Joy spoke, putting down her glass. “But we think it would do Calum some good, having a trusted partner at his side when he becomes king.” She let out a sigh, the jewels in her earrings glittering despite there being no sunlight to shine against them. “However, it’s not a topic we can bring up to him. We must tread carefully, though how much longer we can wait, I’m not sure.”

Lydia pressed her lips together, troubled gaze dropping to the table full of food in front of her. She didn’t entirely like what she was hearing. As a princess, Lydia understood the duties she must attend to, as she was sure Calum knew his. She understood the significance of preparing Calum to become king of his land—her older brother, Percy, had been preparing to become King of Amorcor all his life, ready to step up when their parents stepped down—but Lydia did not like the idea of trying to push him into a marriage, whether it be for the crown or not, when he hadn’t yet finished mourning. In the end, it would only make him suffer more, and while they may not be as close as they once were, Lydia didn’t want to see that happen to Calum.

Seeing him this way was, truthfully, heartbreaking enough.

She wished she could help. It hurt knowing she probably couldn’t.

                                                         *****

As soon as Calum stepped into the palace ballroom, regret mixed in with the blood coursing through his veins. The live orchestra played pleasant, classical music that seemed to scratch in his ears, and the quiet murmur that his arrival was greeted with wasn’t something he could ignore. He was also aware of the stares he was receiving from those who hadn’t caught a glimpse of him in the past year and a half. They were all probably shocked to see him still alive. The stares were open and not at all hidden, and while part of Calum was used to being looked at, it still prickled at his skin under the red suit jacket he wore, their gazes feeling heavier than the jeweled crown settled atop his head. In that moment, Calum hated his parents for forcing him to attend this stupid gala.

They always threw it in honor of King Augustus and Queen Serena; after all, his parents’ best friends deserved the best treatment when they visited their kingdom. It was the first event Calum was attending since everything went to utter shit, and he inhaled deeply as he kept a blank face, not entirely meeting anyone’s eyes. He would much rather be upstairs in his chambers, maybe out on the balcony enjoying a cigarette. Being around all of these people. . . It was almost as bad as torture.

He stood at the entrance, two guards on either side, as he squared his shoulders and tugged at the embroidered lapels of his suit jacket. Calum felt uncomfortable; being in the presence of so many people, all of whom were looking at him and were well aware of the tragedy that had occurred a year and six months ago, made his stomach churn and throat tighten, refusing to allow him any ease in breathing. Even his crown, one he hadn’t had a reason to wear for so long, felt like it was weighing him down, and he hated that he had to wear it in the first place.

“You look like you’re about to high tail out of here, your Highness.” Calum’s shoulders sank ever so slightly in relief at the sound of Michael’s voice, feeling his hands clasp his shoulders before coming to stand to his right, his left arm draped around the prince’s shoulders. Michael’s green eyes scanned the room before looking at Calum and saying, “I think we should get some drinks in you.” His gaze then went passed Calum before adding with a grin, “What do you say, boys?”

Calum turned his head, and the spark of relief he felt only seemed to grow that much more at the sight of his two other best friends, Luke and Ashton, step up to his left. The three of them were the only people Calum chose to see, the only ones allowed into the palace to spend time with him as he turned away anyone else’s company. Granted, Calum possibly lost some friendships that way, but he could care less. He’d already suffered a loss he had yet to recover from. The only friends he truly needed, he realized, were the ones next to him.

“Sounds brilliant,” Luke agreed, a dimpled grin lighting up his face, and then suddenly Calum was being forced to move.

Michael’s arm remained around him as the four of them made their way towards the bar, walked past and around the other guests in attendance. And Calum let him, knowing that they were right—alcohol was probably the only way he was going to be able to make it through this. Maybe it would help him completely ignore the several eyes he could feel weighing him down. Honestly, had it not been established it was rude to stare?

“When you told us you were actually attending this gala, I thought you were kidding,” Ashton mused as they reached the bar, flagging down one of the bartenders before ordering his drink.

Luke, who leaned back against the bar, raised an eyebrow at Calum to his left, blonde curls framing his face. He wasn’t a prince, but the youngest son of a notable nobleman in Eston, though his features would say otherwise. Almost angelic, Calum had heard many say, and he was almost as sought after as a prince would be by the woman of Eston. Unfortunately for them, he was very much in love with his girlfriend, Sierra, a local and popular artist in the kingdom. To Calum, Luke drawled, “Did the King and Queen finally get sick of your self-appointed solitary confinement?”

A breathy scoff escaped Calum, disregarding all of his royal etiquette by leaning forward on the bar on his arms, figure slouched as he took the glass of whiskey the bartender handed to him. “Apparently so,” he grunted, taking a sip of the stinging drink. “Mum came into my room last night demanding I mind my behavior. The future king must keep up appearances.”

He couldn’t help the mocking tone that slipped into his voice, lips curling distastefully as he looked down at the glass, directed towards his mother’s words rather than the drink. His conduct at breakfast, it seemed, had been unacceptable and shameful, words that had never really been said to him. Truthfully, Calum knew he was acting like an ass, knew he was taught and raised better than dismissing the company of royals from allied nations, royals his family was close friends with. But Calum didn’t care for any of this. Keeping company with anyone other than his three close friends was an exhausting act, one he’d rather not waste any energy on.

Did his parents not care that it was physically difficult for him to do this? That acting like the prince his people knew made him feel like a fraud, because any semblance of a smile that would quirk at his lips would be nothing but a lie? Calum couldn’t help that he hadn’t moved past his grief. How in the world was he supposed to move on from the death of a woman he loved, a woman he had been with for nearly two years?

Daniella. . . She was the first and only woman Calum ever loved, ever lost himself in and was completely okay with doing so. Her glittering green eyes and kind smile would put any princess to shame, and she wasn’t even a royal—though that had hardly mattered to Calum. He’d fallen in love with her, and she with him—not his title or his money or anything else. Just him, wholly, and it had been breathtaking. And when he lost her, Calum knew that he would never find a love like that again. Nor did he want to. His capability of loving someone. . . It did with Daniella.

“Is that why you’re Princess Lydia’s royal tour guide?” Ashton quipped with a light chuckle as he turned to mirror Luke’s position, his red hair matching Calum’s suit jacket while simultaneously fitting the all black ensemble he had on.

At the mention of that, of his mother’s command from yesterday morning, Calum let out a scoff, lifting his head to eye the various bottles of alcohol on the glass shelf in front of him. He wondered how many of those he’d have to down to drown out the sound of the guests’ chatter going on behind him. Or to completely numb himself from feeling their gazes.

Before he could respond to Ashton’s question, Michael let out a bemused scoff from the other side of the red head. “I don’t see why you’re complaining. You used to be friends, right? It shouldn’t be too bad.” He paused to take a sip of his drink before letting out a short chuckle. “Some people would be thrilled to be in the company of a beautiful princess.”

At that, a scowl took over Calum’s face, indignant gaze shifted over to his green eyed friend. He wanted to snap at Michael, to admonish him for thinking that Calum would ever even consider looking at another woman after Daniella. In the past year and a half, the thought had never even crossed his mind, and for Michael to suggest it so lightly had Calum’s skin prickling fiercely, flushing with an angry heat. One of the reasons why he enjoyed these three men’s company over everyone else’s, other than the obvious, was that they stopped looking at him with pity—albeit it took some time. They didn’t shower him with kind and sympathetic words, didn’t treat him like a man whose world came crashing down on him despite it feeling like so.

No, instead, they kept things normal. Even though Calum refused to step outside the palace, never once leaving after Daniella’s funeral despite the fact that it sometimes felt as though the palace walls were closing in on him, the boys would come over and they would hang out like they normally would. With them around, Calum didn’t feel as suffocated, because they helped distract him from the perpetual pain in his heart and his inability to take a breath without it piercing through his entire body. Sure, sometimes the alcohol and cigarettes and the occasional joint assisted in the process, but more often than not, it was his friends who made the devastating reality disappear for a few hours.

And as appreciative of that as Calum was, he still did not want to hear even the insinuation of him even thinking of a woman that wasn’t Daniella.

Of course, before Calum got the opportunity to say what he wanted to say, Luke spoke up in a quick murmur, “Looks like you’re about to.” Before Calum could question him, a furrow in his dark brows, he heard Luke speak up, “Princess Lydia—it’s an honor to meet you.”

“The honor is mine.” Calum pursed his lips at the familiar, soft voice of Lydia sound behind him. There was an almost gentle melodic lilt to her voice, always speaking as though she was in no rush, that every conversation she partook in deserved time. As he sipped his drink, back still to her—which, in itself, was disrespectful especially given her royal status—Calum’s shoulders tightened. “Your faces are just as famous as Prince Calum’s.”

Calum could hear the teasing grin in Michael’s voice as he responded, “But more handsome, I presume.”

That elicited chuckles from Ashton and Luke, while Lydia let out a tinkling laugh that didn’t scratch Calum’s ears the way the music playing did. He could feel the gazes of his friends on either side of him, could feel Lydia’s on his back as he refused to change positions. The fact that he was making things awkward wasn’t lost on the prince, he just didn’t quite care.

Lydia gently cleared her throat. “Calum, can I ask for your company out in the garden? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

The formality in her tone wasn’t lost on him; there had been a time, when they were younger, where they’d speak to each other as if they were friends and nothing else. It sounded almost unnatural, hearing her speak to him like that. Though, Calum supposed that’s what happened when ten years or so was put between them.

Calum swallowed the sip of his drink, elbow propped on the bar as he held the emptying glass in front of his face, eyeing it as he licked the drink off his lips. And just as he was about to refuse her request, Ashton spoke up on his behalf, “He’d love to. I reckon Prince Cal here needs a bit of fresh air.”

Instantly, Calum’s head snapped to his left to shoot Ashton an incredulous, aggravated glare, wondering why the bloody hell his friend would just offer him up like that. Ashton merely grinned back at him, innocent and dimpled, and Calum tightened his jaw as his gaze happened to flicker over his shoulder, landing right on Lydia. She stood there, a hopeful light in the blue of her eyes, in an elegant royal blue dress with diamonds in her ears and around her neck to match. Her blonde hair was twisted into a French braid over her shoulder, wisps of hair framing her face, and her own golden crown, less chunky and more delicate with just as many glimmering jewels, sat perfectly atop her head.

And, as always, she appeared to be fucking glowing.

“Right,” Calum grunted, clearing his throat as he put down his glass and turned to face her, standing at his full height that towered over her smaller frame. He tugged at the lapels of his jacket, as if smoothing out the wrinkle free material, expression blank despite the small, almost hesitant smile curling up Lydia’s pink lips. At this point, Calum had become an expert in remaining stoic. “Let’s go, then.”

Instead of offering her his arm like he would’ve, once upon a time, Calum walked ahead in the direction of the large doors of the ballroom that led towards the garden, feeling the eyes of everyone around follow his every movement. The gala was being held inside, but one look at the guards standing by the door and it was being opened for Calum and Lydia, and as soon as they stepped out in the night, Calum figured a small break from prying eyes of those in attendance could be beneficial. Even if it meant being in the company of someone else.

There was a silence between him and Lydia as they walked along the paved pathway of the garden, lights lessening the darkness, and it wasn’t entirely comfortable, unsurprisingly. Lydia’s heels clicked against the stoned path and Calum stared ahead, aware of the guards stationed in their usual positions, broad shoulders squared and the desire to take off his crown continuously growing with each chirp of a cricket he could hear. He wished whatever Lydia wanted to say would be said so this awkward and tense walk could be over quickly.

He knew his disregard of her was unwarranted, knew she hadn’t done anything to deserve it. There was a small part of him that felt guilty for treating her as if she was a nuisance, knew if she was a princess of any other kingdom then the act of disrespect would be seen on a greater scale. Maybe he was using their parents closeness to his advantage, no matter how unfair and inconsiderate.

“I know your mother requested for you keep me company during our stay in Eston, but I just wanted to assure you that it’s not needed, if you wish.” She spoke quietly, almost hesitantly.

Calum’s jaw clenched at her attempt of doing him a favor. Why she was doing so, he didn’t know, and why the very notion of it tightened his muscles was even more of an unanswerable question. Then again, Calum didn’t need much reason to lose his temper lately. Damn near everything seemed to boil his blood. He was just. . . So angry and miserable all of the time. Keeping his gaze ahead and hands clasped against his back, he responded in a flat tone, “Are you suggesting I go against the Queen’s orders?”

“I—No, I just—” Very un-princess-like, the way Lydia was stumbling over her words, a shot of nerves stuttering through her voice. It almost irritated Calum with how soft she still sounded. “I feel as though it’s more important you take care of yourself rather than be forced to keep someone company. I understand it’s a terribly hard time for you and—”

“Oh, you understand, do you?” Calum couldn’t help but scoff challengingly to accompany the bitterly mocking tone, finally coming to a stop to face her. Lydia ceased her walking as well, looking up at him with slightly widened eyes when she took in the dark expression on his face. He was devastatingly handsome under the moonlight, but sad, and the anger that was taking over his features wasn’t something she could miss. It dried her mouth, watching him narrow dark eyes at her almost menacingly. No, this was not the Prince Calum she once knew. “You understand that it’s a terribly hard time?” His tone darkened, deep from his throat that sent a shiver down Lydia’s spine as Calum leaned close, intimidating with a fierce fire swirling in his eyes. Even so, it was the liveliest she’d seen him look. “You understand nothing, Lydia. You couldn’t possibly begin to understand what it feels like to lose the only person you’ve loved—or ever will love.” He spoke in a heavy tone, but the coldness that was carried within it couldn’t be ignored, and it was the sound of his low voice that raised goosebumps on Lydia’s arms rather than the breeze that blew by. She wanted to look away from his heated gaze, but he had her frozen in place, transfixed. “So until someone you love dies right next to you, do not say you understand. And do not try to suggest you know what’s best for me. I’ll decide that for myself.”

The blood was boiling in Calum’s veins, hot and angry, irrationally so. The logical part of him knew that Lydia had only been trying to help, had been, in her own damn gentle way, trying to look out for him. But she unknowingly pushed a button, one that was easily triggered, and the loathsome words were spilling out of Calum’s mouth before he could even help it. And with her looking up at him, with blue eyes widened in genuine hurt and surprise and, what he realized nauseously, was fear, the familiar taste of guilt soured his mouth once more. Only this time, the guilt had nothing to do with his girlfriend’s death.

Instead of apologizing, instead of asking for the princess’s forgiveness, Calum merely turned around and walked back in the direction in which they had come. His jaw was tight, easily beginning to ache his teeth, and his blunt nails were digging into his palm while every step he took coincided with the thunderous beat of his heart. Daniella’s bright smile flashed across his mind’s eye, and the suffocating heaviness once again tightened his throat. The guards would make sure Lydia would get back inside safely.

For now, Calum was done with the gala. He needed alcohol, and he needed this fucking crown off his fucking head.

                                                          *****

When Lydia entered the grand foyer of the palace, sandals tapping against the floor, she hadn’t expected to be stopped by a voice calling out, “Princess Lydia—where are you off to?”

She paused, looking up from her phone and letting her gaze wander to her left in the direction of one of the living rooms. She caught sight of Luke, grinning brightly at her as he made his way over, the heels of his boots clicking against the floor. His blonde curls bounced as he made his way over, and from around his intimidatingly large frame she noticed Michael following behind him.

“Oh, hi, boys,” Lydia smiled, friendly and genuine as she put her phone in her purse. They both returned the smile as they came to stand in front of her, tall and handsome and completely dominating her in height. Honestly, what was in the Eston water? “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Just hanging out with his royal Highness,” Michael joked, jerking his head back. Lydia looked around him, and the smile on her face subtly tightened at the sight of Calum slowly, reluctantly, approaching them, a few steps behind Ashton. Lydia’s neck tensed, immediately looking away from Calum before their eyes had the chance of meeting. The last time they had, there had been such a fire in his dark ones that it stole her breath away. She had managed to avoid him all of yesterday, though today she didn’t seem so lucky. “Are you going somewhere?”

Lydia nodded, trying not to let Calum’s presence rattle her as she mustered up her smile once more. But it was difficult; the way he had acted the last time they were together—it had shaken Lydia. No one had spoken to her in that way before, no one had dared, and it was a moment where Lydia wished she was like other princesses—those who didn’t tolerate being spoken to in anyway other than respect. No, Lydia was gentler, kinder than most, and the other night had been the first time someone managed to crush her. It hurt all the more that it was someone she had once considered a friend. Finding her voice, she answered Michael, “The sunflower garden.”

“Really? It’s one of my favorite places in Eston,” Ashton piped up, a dimpled grin lighting up his face. Raising his eyebrows, he asked, “Would you mind if we joined you?”

His unexpected question had Lydia raising her eyebrows, the smile on her face nearly freezing and stomach tightening into unpleasant knots when she caught the open glare Calum shot him. The young prince’s jaw was working, a sure sign of his irritation and displeasure with the idea, and some of Lydia’s excitement to go to the garden diminished at the knowledge of Calum being so against her company. It hurt, twisting her heart sharply, but then Lydia saw the hopeful grins on the other boys’ faces and she felt a gentle warmth spread through her. At least they seemed to enjoy the thought of spending time with her. And, frankly, it’d be nice to have the company. If only Calum thought so, too.

“Of course,” she answered, hand clutching the strap of her purse tightly. “The car’s waiting outside.”

As she turned to continue her previous path towards the main doors and Luke and Michael flanked at Lydia’s either side, starting up conversation with her, Calum remained where he stood, body tight and arms crossed over his chest. He glared after them, exhaling deeply before asking Ashton through gritted teeth, “What the bloody hell are you doing?”

“You need to get out of your head, Cal,” Ashton said, the smile no longer on his face as he shot his friend a serious expression. There was no amusement in his hazel eyes, a meaningful look crossing over his face. “It’ll be good for you.”

Calum scoffed, arms crossing over his chest tightly, fingers digging into himself. His friends had the bad habit of telling him what to do, and if he cared for titles, he’d use his own against them. “What, are you my therapist now?”

Ashton pursed his lips, giving a roll of his eyes as he said, “Haven’t I been for almost two years now?”

Expression falling, Calum pursed his lips at his friend, a heaviness settling in his chest because he couldn’t argue with Ashton. The man had been there for him so much, took care of him when everyone else failed to do so because he wanted to. Before Calum could say anything, Ashton clapped his shoulder and said, “Let’s go.”

He followed him reluctantly, still not willing to go on this small excursion, jaw clenching as he exited the palace and walked down the front steps to where the SUV was waiting. Calum didn’t miss the way some of the guards slid their gazes over to him, and he knew they were surprised to see him stepping foot out of the palace, to see him actually getting into a car after so long. He paid them no mind as he approached the car, everyone else already climbed in, and he glanced at the guard holding the door open.

“Sire,” he greeted with a nod, earning the subtlest of nods in return because at least he had the decency to not look at Calum as if he had two heads.

Calum sat against the door, Luke in between him and Ashton while Lydia sat in the back with Michael, while a security guard took up the passenger seat. The door shut and Calum pressed his teeth together, dark eyes taking in the interior of the vehicle as if he’d never been in a car before. It felt like it, almost, mixed with the subtle anxiety that came with trying something new. But this wasn’t new; this was achingly, terrifyingly familiar, and as the SUV started making its way towards the palace gates, Calum did his best to put where he was out of his mind.

The chatter of the boys and Lydia didn’t do much to serve as a distraction, their voices muffled over the engine of the car, which sounded as though it was thrumming right in his ears. He needed to relax. Needed to loosen the tight muscles of his body and allow himself to breathe. Hastily, Calum pulled out his phone and untangled the wire of his earbuds with trembling fingers, throat working as he practically shoved them in his ears and played whatever song his thumb pressed on first.

Calum sat, headphones in and head leaning back against the seat, trying not to acknowledge his body jolting and swaying ever so slightly with every bump in the road and every turn. His jaw remained tight, teeth pressed together harshly and inviting a dull ache that was better to think of than the fact that he was in a vehicle. It was a bit strange to think about, the fact that the prince hadn’t been in a car since the accident, but Calum hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it. And why would he, given that he remained hidden in the palace all this time? He found it a bit melodramatic to label it as PTSD, but deep down, Calum knew this was what it was. Knew that being in a car automatically took him back to that fateful day, and he desperately wished he could drown out his raging, paralyzing thoughts.

But no matter how loudly he played the music blaring in his ears, Calum couldn’t seem to forget about the fact that he was in a car. With his eyes closed, Calum attempted to regulate his breathing, tried to focus on the too calm beating of his heart and remind himself that he was still there. Yet every time he thought of that, he thought of the fact that Daniella wasn’t, that he hadn’t been in a car because of her, and with his eyes still closed Calum’s eyebrows furrowed tensely as his grip on his phone tightened. They’d be arriving soon. The sunflower gardens weren’t too far from the palace.

Just breathe. Count to one hundred. Inhale, exhale, repeat.

His muscles were tight, riddled with tension desperate to be released, and Calum’s scrunched up face winced every time the car hit a bump in the road, sending him spiraling into his memories each time. Memories he tried so hard, every day, not to think of yet were always sitting in the back of his mind. They came to the forefront of his mind; the glass shattering, the screech of metal and tires and the crushing force of being collided into by a vehicle larger than theirs. Calum could remember the way the car had been thrusted to the side, his body jerking and the seatbelt straining against his body painfully, the sound of Daniella’s scream stopping his heart rather than the paralyzing reality of them being involved in a car accident.

It was never her scream that Calum heard in his nightmares, though, but the sound of his name passing through her lips in a jagged, choked breath that she uttered with the very last force of life she had left in her. And then she was gone, and Calum was left feeling hollow and wishing that it had been him instead.

The car bumped deeply as it drove over a pothole, the metal almost jostling, and suddenly Calum’s throat locked.

His eyes snapped open, deaf to the world around him, deaf to even the music playing in his ears because all he could hear was his heart thundering wildly, viciously, in his chest. Calum’s focus was suddenly on the way his heart was beating too fast and not enough air was being given to his lungs and his blood suddenly felt too hot in his veins, and he needed to get the fuck out of this car.

“Pull over.” His voice sounded like a whisper, a mere breath that got caught in his throat, and when Calum’s alarmed eyes took in the way no one, not the driver nor his friends or Lydia, noticed, his fingers gripped the handle on the door. He held it so tightly, it was a wonder Calum didn’t rip it right off as his voice found its natural baritone and he all but yelled through a guttural shout, “Stop the car.”

His command was followed by immediate silence before the driver drifted off to the side, away from the main road, and came to a stop. Calum was deaf to his friends’ concerned questions, vaguely hearing his phone clattering to the carpeted floor of the vehicle, as he threw open the door and stumbled outside, barely catching his footing on the uneven ground. Calum’s left hand gripped the top of the door, tight and whitening his knuckles, pushing himself forward as the crunch of gravel was silenced by the thundering of his heart.

Everything else fell away, unable to focus on the concerned exclaims from those in the car or hear the whirring of cars driving by because his heart was beating too fucking loudly. There was nothing but the countryside around them, the city in the opposite direction of where they were headed, and Calum almost fell to his knees as his breathing picked up at an uncontrollable pace. All he could hear was the muffled sound of his heart beating as a single stream of a ringing sound pierced his ears, throat beginning to dry out from the quick and shallow breaths he couldn’t help but take.

All he was thinking of, was being drowned by, was Daniella. By the way their car had tossed and glass had shattered and pierced his skin. By how her scream of his name had terrified him more than the inevitability of being injured himself. He remembered the cuts along his skin, could feel the glass settle in the thick of his hair, as he desperately tried to reach for Daniella, fought against the restriction of the seatbelt and uncaring of the tension in his chest that made it difficult to breathe. Panic, panic, panic. It had happened so fast, too fast, and the nausea passed over Calum as if it was happening all over again. As if he was still in the car and Daniella was still screaming and he was fighting to reach for her, less than a foot away, yet still too far. As if he was reliving the worst day of his entire life.

He remembered not getting to her in time. Not being able to help. Not seeing her green eyes as he heard her last words, a jagged breath of his name, before she left him to deal with burning tears that escaped through a strangled cry of his own.

It played out, over and over again in Calum’s head, breaths coming out in heavy gasps yet barely going in. His dry heaves sounded far away, heart pounding too viciously for him to control, the heat of the sun just as brutal as the memories attacking his delicate state, and suddenly Ashton was in front of him.

“Hey, hey, Cal, breathe.” His best friend’s voice was soothing as Ashton’s hands came to gently grip the prince’s shoulders. Worried hazel eyes met widened, panicked brown, as Ashton tried to maintain eye contact. Ashton rubbed Calum’s arms soothingly, though the prince barely noticed. “Come on, Calum, breathe with me. Listen to my breathing, alright?”

He could hear Ashton clearly, could hear the worry he was trying to hide behind a layer of calmness in hopes of relaxing Calum, but it didn’t do much. There were no tears, but Calum could feel his eyes burning. His dry heaves were hoarse and harsh against his throat, chest beginning to ache from the force of his breaths, and Calum desperately wanted to calm down and follow Ashton’s calmer breathing pattern. A pothole. It had been one deep pothole that sent him over the edge, the jostle of the SUV violently taking him back to the last time he ever saw Daniella, and breathing suddenly seemed to be the most difficult thing for him to do.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.” Ashton kept repeating his words, kept uttering pacifying phrases in hopes of breaking through to the troubled prince, and Calum squeezed his eyes shut as the air rushed in and out of his lungs loudly.

His eyebrows drew together, a deep frown creasing his forehead, as his hands came up to grip Ashton’s wrists as his hands remained on his shoulders. But instead of pushing his best friend away, Calum squeezed his hands around Ashton, still breathing heavily, still fighting to push past this sudden panic attack.

Somewhere behind him, Calum vaguely heard Lydia’s concerned voice softly question, “Is he alright? Is—does he need water?”

Calum’s eyes opened. Water. Yes, he needed water. At the very least, maybe it would help his dry throat.

As if reading his mind, Ashton’s gaze flickered over Calum’s shoulder as he said to Lydia, “Yeah, do you mind?”

A second later, Ashton was offering Calum a water bottle that had been drank from a little bit, and Calum didn’t care for the faint pink lip gloss smudge on the mouth of the bottle as he gripped it with a tight fist. He drank from it desperately, like a man lost in a desert who’d found his oasis, and suddenly his throat didn’t feel like it was on fire.

Calum closed his eyes once more after he finished drinking, head bowed ever so slightly, and he bit into his lower lip harshly as Daniella’s face flashed across his mind. His shoulders sank a bit, throat cool but tight. At least she was smiling in his head. It wouldn’t be long until the image was replaced with the far more gruesome sight of glass piercing her skin and blood painting her as a result.

For now, she was still the sight of the woman she was, not who she’d become in her last moments because of him.

                                                         *****

The sun was bright in the sky, the field of yellow in front of and around him only accentuating his surroundings. The sunflower gardens were just a vast field with hundreds of growing yellow flowers, a stoned pathway cleared to make getting around easier even though people were allowed to wander off and into the middle of the field. There was a distant hum of bees fluttering in the air and, to Calum’s surprise, there weren’t that many people around despite the permitting weather. Or maybe there were and both his and Princess Lydia’s security teams kept them at their distance. Especially considering the little episode Calum had on their way over.

Of course, he tried not to think of it. Tried to push past the fact that he lost complete control in that moment. Calum knew it was nothing to be embarrassed of, knew his trauma was valid and reacting the way he did was not shameful. But he’d spent so long stayed locked up in his palace, away from the prying eyes of others and obviously away from getting into cars that he did not realize just how triggering it would be for him. Every small bump in the road felt like the car was being thrown around violently, a feeling Calum was all too familiar with, and it had become too much too fast. He knew it was a bad idea.

“You okay?” Calum’s back straightened when Michael stepped up next to him, his casual voice still carrying the hint of concern. “You scared us back there, man.”

Lifting his chin, Calum’s eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly as his sunglasses shielded his eyes before responding quietly, “I’m alright. Sorry ’bout that.”

Michael made a noise of discontent. “Hey, dude, don’t be sorry for it,” he instantly said, frowning at Calum’s need to apologize as he turned to look at the prince. “It was out of your control and it’s—it’s okay.” Michael ducked his head slightly, trying to catch Calum’s gaze, unsurprised when he couldn’t. “It’ll get better.”

“Yeah. That’s what I keep being told.” He knew that Michael was only being a good friend, knew he was only trying to be there for him, but the words painted with flat sarcasm still slipped past Calum’s tongue, the royal restraint he’d grown up learning nowhere to be found. His nails dug into his arms, most likely leaving behind indents into his skin, as he watched the flowers dance in the wind. Calum’s voice dropped into a mutter, “’s a never ending waiting game.”

“It probably feels that way because you don’t try.”

It felt like a slap in the face. It really did, which is why Calum looked at Michael, eyebrows pulling downwards into an affronted frown as the glare settled on his face all too familiarly. Michael only met his stare by a look of honesty, not at all looking regretful for what he said, and Calum couldn’t help the hurt that sank his heart and anger that boiled his blood. He didn’t try? Was Michael being serious?

Calum’s eyes narrowed, turning to face his green eyed friend, his own eyes narrowing as he demanded in a low voice, “What’d you just say to me?”

“I don’t mean any disrespect, Cal,” Michael assured, easily sensing the defensive hostility taking over the prince’s tone. “But things will only get better if you’re willing for them to instead of drowning yourself in the past.”

“You truly believe I don’t want for things to be better?” Calum questioned, the insult still heavy in his otherwise quiet tone. He didn’t want to attract anyone else’s attention. Calum doubted Michael found his change of demeanor the least bit intimidating, having known the prince for far too long, and it did little to have Calum back off. A condescending scoff escaped Calum, expression tight and muscles rigid. “Trust me, Michael—I’d prefer not to dream at all instead of having to watch Daniella die every night.”

The bitterness in his voice wasn’t lost on Michael, enough to make the green eyed man’s throat tighten at the blunt statement that was a reminder of Daniella’s passing. Not that Calum ever needed a reminder. Sometimes it was a miracle Michael even saw his friend standing. To lose a love like that. . . Michael could never understand what Calum was going through, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to help his best friend.

But Calum walked away from Michael, the mulch under his boots crunching softly as he wandered towards some of the flowers, the gentle buzzing of some bees around him distracting. He uncrossed his arms, left hand dropping to his side while his right reached out to graze his fingers along the flower petals. Calum wasn’t inclined to admit it, but it felt refreshing, being out in the sunflower gardens, a place where fond memories lived.

It was also one of the places in the kingdom Calum didn’t come to with Daniella, her allergy to flowers preventing such trips. No memories of her clung to this place, except everything still managed to remind him of her He pressed his lips together, fruitlessly trying to push any thoughts of her out of his head. She was always there, though, ever present in the back of his mind.

Calum lifted his head, gaze by happenstance flickering to Lydia, standing a few feet away from him with a sunflower in her hand and her phone in the other, taking a picture of the vast field in front of her. He watched her quietly; watched her glow under the sun, blonde hair looking soft to the touch, the jewelry on her nose glinting.

He couldn’t tear his gaze from her, Calum realized uncomfortably. His gaze lingered longer than he would’ve liked, as though his mind was determined to take in the sight of her, and Calum did not like that. It was only when Lydia happened to glance his way that Calum was able to look away, jaw clenching as he focused his gaze on one of the hundreds of flowers in front of him. The blunt cut of his nails dug into his palm when he realized, thanks to his peripherals, that Lydia was making her way over to him. Calum wished she wouldn’t, for both their sakes.

“Are you. . . Alright?” Calum heard the hesitation in her voice, cautiously coming to stand next to him as her tone took the same persona. Guarded, wary, yet still concerned. Quietly, she added, “You gave us a scare in the car.”

It was almost instinctive how Calum wanted to snap at her, derived from a combination of wanting to defend himself and telling her to mind her own business, but he knew how wrong and unfair that was. Truth be told, he may not look it, but Calum felt badly for how he treated Lydia the night of the party when they were walking on the palace grounds. He had snapped at her, gotten in her face when all she was doing as looking out for him, like she was doing now. And what did Calum do in return? All but told her to fuck off.

He was better than that. Daniella would be so disappointed.

So Calum exhaled slowly through his nose, fingering at a yellow petal as he responded evenly, “I’m alright.” Divulging any more information wasn’t something Calum felt particularly inclined to do, and so he was surprised when he heard himself say, “I hadn’t been in a car for a while and so. . . It was something to adjust to. I’m so—”

“Please don’t apologize,” Lydia instantly cut off his apology—one Calum wasn’t even sure why he had tried to utter. Everyone knew what happened the last time Calum got in a car; he had no reason to be sorry for a panic attack triggered by the kind of trauma he had gone through. Frankly, he hated that it felt instinctive to be apologetic over it, but was grateful Lydia interrupted him. He glanced at her, brown eyes meeting kind blue, as she continued, “What happened doesn’t define you, but it’s also something you shouldn’t have to apologize for. We all have our crosses to bear, Calum, and to be able to move on we should have faith in ourselves and in—”

“God?” the prince supplied dryly, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at that being exactly what Lydia was going to say, though his tone of voice more than showed how he hoped it wasn’t. Calum had been listening to her intently up until that part.

“The universe,” Lydia corrected, a small, almost embarrassed smile quirking at her pink lips. She broke her gaze from Calum then, looking towards the flowers, as Calum grew silent once more. “It sounds silly, but I always found more comfort in looking at the stars than in a place of worship.” The embarrassed smile turned wistful, before Lydia turned to look at Calum, squinting ever so slightly under the brightness of the sun. Still, he noted the way her blue eyes glimmered. “My point is, I find it easier to move forward if I have something to believe in, especially when it seems like nothing is worth it anymore. Sinking in our sorrow may seem like the easiest option, but it’s neither helpful nor healthy.”

Calum gazed at her, at the knowing sadness that hid behind her bright eyes and the small empathetic curve of her lips, and he remembered the harsh words he’d hissed at her that night in the palace gardens.

Until someone you love dies right next to you, do not say you understand. His jaw tightened as his own words echoed hauntingly in his head, and Calum felt the guilt of uttering them tighten his chest. Lydia spoke as if she did understand, and Calum found himself fearing that he’d been unforgivingly selfish and blind to some kind of pain she’d possibly gone through. Just because he was hurting didn’t mean he could disregard someone else’s ache.

He lifted his chin, his gaze still on the princess beside him, for a moment forgetting that three of his best friends were traipsing about. For now, all Calum seemed to be able to do was focus on Lydia as he spoke, “You’ve lost someone.”

His voice was thick, something he couldn’t help, but the statement sounded like it was lost somewhere between a question and an observation. Calum’s tone was almost gentle, though it never lost the guarded edge that seemed to be embedded within it. Not for the first time, Daniella’s face flashed across his mind’s eye, and Calum had to let go of the flower before he crushed it in his fist. The weight rested familiarly on his chest, yearning to be lifted, knowing Daniella was gone to be the one to get rid of it.

Something flashed across her face, a hint of surprise before melting into acceptance, yet the empathetic, rueful smile remained. “Not in the way you have,” Lydia responded gently, carefully. She looked down at the flower in her hand, continuing to rub her thumb and forefinger back and forth with the stem in between, twirling the flower as she went. “They lost someone, and I lost them to their grief, in a way.” Calum pursed his lips, understanding washing over him like a cool wave. It made sense, he figured, why Lydia seemed so be so aware of his state of mind, why she talked so carefully around him. His tongue sat bitterly in his mouth, knowing he was more than an asshole to her since she arrived. A light chuckle escaped her, short and almost derisive as she managed to glance at him. “Call me selfish, but while our friendship has changed since we were kids, I’d rather not experience the same thing with you.”

Her words unexpectedly had a warmth spreading through Calum, a sensation he hadn’t been entirely prepared for. Maybe it was the unadulterated sincerity Lydia spoke with, mixed with a combination of gentleness and kindness he didn’t think he was deserving of, but suddenly Calum found just a tiny bit of that weight lifting off his chest. Just a small bit, not entirely freeing him of the demon holding it down, but enough to make breathing a fraction of a bit easier.

Calum looked at the princess, at the way her gold hair danced gently against the breeze with the yellow flowers, and realized that the man he had become wasn’t one that Lydia once knew—nor was he a man Daniella would want him to be. He used to be better. Maybe he could try and be that way once more, with a little faith in himself. And the universe. He’d always been more spiritual than dependent on a single deity, anyway. Believing, after the accident, hadn’t come easy. But he could try. He would.

“You are many things, Lydia, but selfish is not one of them,” Calum found himself saying, voice smoother than it’s been in a while, as well as honest. Lydia looked at him, a grateful smile lifting her glowing cheeks, and Calum felt a wave of embarrassment come over him. There was an urge to run his fingers through his hair, to tug at curls that were no longer there, the anxiety and anger ridden habit still in place. But instead, he clasped his hands behind his back, for the first time appearing every bit as apologetic as he felt when he added with a dip of his head, “I’m hoping forgiving is, though, because I’m sorry for my recent behavior.” He was a prince, a man grown into manners and elegance, and he knew better. And treating someone who had once been a friend the way he had, well, Calum was ashamed of himself. Grief wasn’t an excuse to be disrespectful.

He heard Lydia expel a soft breath, gaze flickering to see the way she eyed him understandably. “Apology accepted.” Then her own smile turned repentant as she said, “I’m sorry, too, if I overstepped.”

“You didn’t.” His words surprised both of them, given the reaction he had that night when Lydia had tried offering her support the first time. Calum wasn’t entirely sure where this change of attitude was coming from—maybe it was Michael’s words, or Lydia’s, or a combination of both in addition to the realization that who he was becoming wasn’t someone Daniella would want him to be. The fear of disappointing her was nauseating, and a look back at his attitude, which he had excused as stemming from guilt and grief, was shameful.

His heart slammed against his chest. The guilt. It twisted him up in every single way, and Calum didn’t want to think about it. Logically, he knew it wasn’t his fault. But the horrid combination of guilt and grief didn’t leave much room to think clearly. Not too often, anyway.

He forced his gaze towards Lydia once more, who was still smiling gratefully, and Calum let out a breath his lungs had held captive. His lips quirked, offering a small yet real smile, as he spoke, “Thank you. For before. And now. I’m undeserving of your helpful words, but I appreciate them nonetheless.”

She let out a breath, the smile still on her lips. Always kind, always gentle. And then she stole Calum’s breath, so quickly that he didn’t even realize it, couldn’t comprehend it, as she earnestly said, “The only thing you’re undeserving of is what haunts you.”

--

tags: @irwinkitten @glitterprincelu @sweetcherrymike @meetashthere @valentinelrh @softforcal @astroashtonio @hereforlukescruff @novacanecalum @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbbycal @singt0mecalum @hopelessxcynic @lfwallscouldtalk @bodhi-black @findingliam-o @softlrh @calntynes @calumsmermaid @erikamarie41 @quintodosuniversos @longlastingdaydream @babylon-corgis @lukehemmingsunflower @spideyseavy @imfuckin10plybud @livibii123 @pastelpapermoons @malumharmonies @conquerwhatliesahead92 @rotten-kandy @metangi @neigcthood @ohhmuke @old-zeppelin-shirt @5sos-and-hessa @trustmeimawhalebiologist @vxlentinecal @pettybassists @vaporshawn @lu-my-golden-boi @buggy-blogs @visualm3nte @isabella-mae13 @dontjinx-it @lifeakaharry @neonweeknds @antisocialbandmate @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave @calpalbby @grreatgooglymoogly @sunnysideblog @cocktail-calum @miahelizaaabeth @madeylnerin @dramallamawithsparkles @hzi0 @aulxna @mermaid004 @theagenderwhocriedwolf @kaytiebug14 @hoodskillerqueen @bitchinbabylon @empathycth @xhaileyreneex @inlovehoodx @calistheloml @aestheticrelated @bloodlinecal @sublimehood @madbomb @raabiac @britnicole11 @outofmylimitcal 

[midnight-writ3r]

Boy got horns

Kim Doyoung x Genderneutral reader

Summary: Doyoung appears in your life without warning, bringing with him a series of unusual happenings. You quickly find out he's mean, smug and narcissistic - he basically screams god complex.

Oh, how ironically wrong you are.

Warnings: Bullying! Also, a little bit of blood/gore but it is SUPER tame and not described.

Genre: Fluff, Crack, supernatural

A/N: Lmao I have no idea where I'm going/was gonna go with this, but it was stuck in my head and I had fun writing for Doyoungie 💕💕 so enjoy this pointless piece of literature!

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

The first time you meet Doyoung is in class on the first day of the new school year. From the first moment you can tell there is something strange about him though. For several reasons, really.

First of all, the teacher never bothered to introduce him to the rest of the class, as she would normally do with new students. If she didn't look at him or question him every now and then, you would have thought she doesn't see him at all. Yet, they're interacting, as if that strange boy had been there for years now. All casual.

Then there's the rest of the students. You might be an outsider, but you know your classmates. Enough at least, to find it odd that such an eye candy managed to sit all by himself at the back of the class. Usually, girls and boys would crowd around him, as they do with Jaehyun, one of the more popular students in your year. And the oddest thing about it, is that he doesn't seem to even mind. The contrary actually:

He seems awfully pleased at being on his own. From back there, he can look over the whole class and there is this superior look on his face. When he even goes as far as to lounge his legs on his desk, he looks nothing short of a bratty King, sunk into his throne.

It itches you to talk to him, to question him and to prove to yourself that you're imagining too much into this situation. There's just one problem.

"Morning pugly." you ignore the nasty snicker of some of your classmates at the corner.

You'd never be able to gather the courage to talk to Doyoung. Even if you did, your classmates would probably take any chance they get to embarrass you in front of him. And what for? A brief glance of notice? A smile? With how gloomy his gaze is, youre not even sure if the guy has it in him to smile.

With a brief huff you push your glasses back up your nose, "Good to see you back gollum, you give me a good laugh all year." a girl sneered, as she passes your desk.

Ignoring that and many other comments that follow, you sit through the rest of class. A couple of times paper balls, with mean messages written onto them, would hit your head and you'd discreetly throw them in the trash. By now, you were really good at aiming at the trash can in the corner, without the teachers noticing.

A sting on your scalp rips you out of your stupor. The guy sitting behind you pulled your hair. You briefly turn around to throw them a threatening glare.

However, before you can do that, something odd happens.

Through the open window of your classroom, a swift shadow appears and darts right for the guy. It's a raven, you realize with a gasp. It's clawing at the guy's face, even as he tries to fight it off. The teacher and the rest of the class all errupt into panicked screams and shouts, as you watch in awe, how the raven rips out a chunk of hair from the guy's scalp and flies back out of the window. Everyone is in a frenzy.

Except him.

He's laughing into his palm, like he is purposefully doing a bad job of concealing it. You stare at him in confusion and also slight terror. When he notices, he gives you a smirk and you quickly turn away.

What the hell? What was that?

The guy is sent to the nurse immediately and, just to make sure he gets there without anymore bird attacks, the teacher accompanies him. In truth, you guess she just really doesn't want to stay in that classroom any longer. Nothing to blame her for, really.

However, you know what happens when there are no teachers around and you dread it more than anything. After everyone has finally calmed down and went back to getting bored again, the people start crowding your desk.

"That sick bird shoulda gotten you, I bet it would get a good nest in this thing you call your hair."

"Not to be mean, but you definitely need a makeover. Or maybe ten."

"Maybe I can help with that?" the girl who had called you gollum before, pulls her gum from her mouth. You grimace, but a pair of hands on your shoulders prevent you from moving. No matter how hard you try, you can't scramble away, when she reaches out, to smear the gum in your hair.

You close your eyes. When they leave you alone, you can just cut it out with scissors. Maybe you even manage to wash it out.

But the gum never comes. Instead, what comes is a surprised gasp. You open your eyes, just in time to see Doyoung taking the girl's gum and placing it on her own forehead. However, the sound that follows is neither disgust nor anger.

It's a scream of pure anguish.

When your big eyes look at the girl's forehead, there is steam levitating into the air and you hear a small sizzling noise. Suddenly, there's a sickening smell of burned skin in the room.

The girl stumbles back, trying to rip the gum off, as Doyoung watches her with a thoughtful pout, "You humans are so narrow minded. Finding pleasure in hurting others..." he smirks to himself, "I thought that was exclusively our thing."

When his eyes flicker to you with a warmer version of his smile you can't help but flinch. Either he doesn't notice or he doesn't care, "Come on, let's get out of here. There's no fun people around and the teacher is busy making out with the janitor."

You gape at him. So do the other students around you. "Look, stay here and get tormented if you want to. I'll get some ice cream." Everyone has formed a tight circle around you, Doyoung and the girl, but when he steps towards the classroom door, they jump apart as if he were a lion, ready to pounce.

Still confused beyond belief, you stare at the girl, who's silently crying and peeling the remains of gum from her forehead. Then, as if stung by a bee, you pack your things and run after him.

"How did you do it?" you pant, when you finally catch up to him.

He gives you a curled smirk, "How did I do what?"

"D-don't play dumb with me! That gum had at least a hundred degrees!" you stress.

Passing through the halls and towards the school's entrance, he nods in thought, "Odd things happen."

You puff out your cheeks in exasperation, "They happen around you!"

"About that, you're right." He says and stretched his hand to you, when you finally make it out of the building, "I'm Doyoung, by the way."

You're almost scared to touch him, because, what if his hand is as hot as that gum? But when you shake his hand, it's pleasently warm and soft, "Y/N."

"Nice to meet you." Doyoung smiles again and turns away. You don't follow him right away, so he leaves you standing there.

"Thank you!" you shout, when he's almost at the street and you finally think of catching up to him.

As if not knowing a thing, he lifts a brow, "For?"

"Don't think I didn't notice." you say and when he humms, as if to prompt you to continue, you explain: "I don't know how you did it, but you helped me. You... Defended me."

Rolling his eyes, he says: "How adorable, you think I did this for you."

Ignoring the sting in your chest, you ask: "Why then?"

"Entertainment." he leans down, so close that your noses almost touch, "You've gotta admit, the look on their faces was very funny."

Doyoung laughs at your taken aback expression and the flush you're pretty sure you're sporting right now. Without another word, he turns to walk further.

You follow him wordlessly. There's a little awkwardness from your side and you wonder why you're following him around, like a lost pup. He doesn't seem to mind though and the two of you walk in silence for a few minutes.

Soon, you reach a familiar area that you like to frequent with your best friend Taeyong a lot; a long street, filled with an old-fashioned market. Booths with veggies, bread, candy and all kinds of hand crafted goods line both sides, so far down the street that you can't even see the end from the start. The sky above you is filled to the brim with clouds. It's a little chilly, but for now you seem safe from rain.

Doyoung heads right for an ice cream booth and orders a cone with chocolate and vanilla. Then he turns to you, "Y/N will pay, since I've been such a good friend today."

The guy working the ice cream booth looks at you with a bored expression. You're still taken aback, but you manage to scramble for your wallet. Only when Doyoung is happily licking on his ice cream and the two of you walk further down the market street, does it occur to you what you just did.

"Why, you-"

"One hand washes the other and such." Doyoung says, as if that's a sufficient explanation, "Like you said, I helped you."

You sigh and decide you can handle the three bucks spent on Doyoung's delighted expression.

"Why did you let them pick on you like that?" he suddenly asks.

You take a moment, "I... I just don't think I should encourage them to do worse."

"You think that'll happen?"

"If I piss them off enough to actually want to hurt me" you shrug, "Jup, I'm guessing that's what would happen."

He humms and starts munching on the cone, "Only if you don't do it properly."

"What do you mean."

Crunch, crunch, "You have to put them in their place."

You laugh, taken aback, "You sound like a dictator."

"I'm just following my principles." he shrugs, "after my little tricks, they will definitely not come for you, if I'm around. But I have better things to do, than devote my time to being your bodyguard."

"Understandable." You scratch the back of your head awkwardly, "for real though, are you a magician or something?"

He laughs, wide and bright and you decide it's unexpectedly nice, "No, not a magician."

"So you're not a magician and neither are you a dictator", tilting your head, you look at him, "Are you a fairy? Or a spirit maybe? God?"

He chokes on his ice cream cone and then laughs so hard, it's like you've said the funniest and absurdist thing ever, "No, thankfully, I'm not god." When he looks at you, his gaze is smug, "I'm surprised you haven't caught up yet. Let me give you a hint."

He winks and above you, a bolt of lightning drenches the world in white. You gasp. There, behind his back is a dark shape, bigger than even his whole body. A pair of wings, you realize with your heart pounding like crazy. But not only that. There, between his fluffy, black hair, a pair of pointy shapes contrasts against the white sky.

Horns.

You gulp, when you meet his eyes again. They're drenched in a red glow and paired with this sinister smirk, the answer finally comes to you. But the words get stuck in your throat, disbelief and fear clouding your mind beyond use. His wings flutter softly, as he speaks them for you:

"I am the devil."

-*- FIN -*-

[smoothcurvesinteractive]

What Makes Dad's Tacos Special

What REALLY makes Dad’s tacos special

The Meat

The Tortillas

The whole Taco Bar Spread

What really makes my tacos special is the care I put into the meat and the tortillas. I’ve been making tacos since I was a teenager, and they were one of the first dinners I could cook for myself. The technique I use for cooking the meat, and the tortillas has been developed and tweaked and improved for around 40 years.

The meat should be fine crumbles. Ground turkey and Chicken tend to turn into really fine, almost sand like texture. 85 and 90% lean hamburger also tends to crumble really fine.

This technique can also make cheap (70% fat content) hamburger much healthier.

Raw corn tortillas are just gross, microwaved with a little water, they are a bit better. My technique for preparing tortillas looks involved but takes mere seconds per tortilla, and if you cook 2 or 3 tortillas at a time you can have a batch of a dozen cooked in under 10 min.

This technique also applies to wheat flour tortillas. For flour, us a LOT less water, half as much water per side as described below, and a bunch more butter. Wheat flour tortillas bubble up really nice and fun in a pan.

The Meat

Prep

Ground hamburger, Pork Turkey or Chicken

2 Packets of taco seasoning (1 packet per ½ lb of meat)

Paprika (ideally roasted turkish)

Onion powder

Garlic powder

1 teaspoon chopped garlic per lb meat

The biggest frying pan we got (often called a sauce pan)

Optional

roasted crushed pepper flakes

Finely chopped onion

Chopped baby onion stems

Finely chopped tomato

Refried beans (no more than ¼ cup per lb of meat)

Meat cooking Technique

In a big frying pan,

turned on high,

dump 1 to 2 lbs of the meat, smash it down with a fork until it covers the whole pan evenly.

Let that sizzle for a bit, like 4 min, until the meat on the button just starts to brown

With a spatula stir up the meant and turn as much of the meat over, to try to  brown the other side

Repeat this 4 times, until a goo portion of the meat has started to brown

Now stir in ¾ pint or 2.5 cups of water for every lb of meat (this will seem like a LOT of water… don’t worry)

Keep stirring until you have a meat soup.

Once the meat soup has started to boil, add in the taco seasonings, and paprika (no more than a teaspoon of paprika per lb of meat

If you are in a hurry, you can drain off most of the water BEFORE adding the spices, do not drain off all the water or the spices won’t mix, and you’ll burn the meat.

Stir in the spices

Let boil down for 15 to 20 min, or until the meat is no longer floating in the water, and a lot of the fat has separated and starting to make a film on top.

DO NOT reduce the water all the way…

Turn off the burner

Prepare a plastic container, or a bowl, you are going to pour and spoon off the fat and the rest of the water. I usually press a bit ladle spoon down into the meat and gather up all the water and fat and ladle it into the the plastic container… This step is important we will use this stuff to make the tortillas delicious.

Once all the water and as much fat as you can has been drained out of the pan, put the pan back on the burner (that is off but still hot) stir the meat for a bit. Leave the meat in the pan on the burner to cool and slow cook as the burner continues to cool down.

The Basic idea  is to first brown the meat a bit, add a bunch of water, bring to boil stir in spices  and then boil down most of that water, in doing so separating most of the fat from the meat and turning the meat into a finely ground crumbles. This also infuses all the meat with the spice mix.

The Tortillas

Corn tortillas

2 plates

Softened butter, or Butter like substance

Bowl of water

The water and fat separated from the meat (it should be good and dark orange/brown)

Pre-Prepare the tortillas

Ladle one teaspoon of the taco meat water onto each side of every tortilla, spread a bit of butter onto each side of each tortilla let the tortilla rest for a bit so the water soaked in, fry them up until they bubble and turn a nice yummy color. Fresh tortillas from the store are crumbly, and have a white and raw texture, this techniques partially breaks down the corn flower and re-constitutes the tortilla through frying in the pan. This technique dramatically improves the taste of the tortilla and the taco. Also this technique improves the strength of the tortillas, they won’t crumble and break like warmed up raw tortillas, and are stronger and much more flavorful than steamed tortillas.

This technique is based on the technique my mom used to make tortillas. She was taught by her mexican friends to always fry corn tortillas in butter, LOTS of butter.

Dads Specific Procedure

Equipment Prep

Pan and spatula are selected and placed on a burner on the stove

A prep plate is placed on the counter beside the stove top right next to the burner you’ll be cooking the tortillas on

Butter and butter knife are placed next to the prep plate

Plastic container with the taco water is placed next to the prep plate

Teaspoon is placed on the prep plate

Tortillas are pulled out, package opened and placed next to the prep plate

A receiving plate is placed on the counter opposite side of the stove

Prepping the tortillas

Take a tortilla from the bag,

place it on a plate,

Ladle the taco meat water onto  the tortilla

Spread a bit of butter onto the tortilla

Flip the tortilla over

Ladle another teaspoon of water

Spread another bit of butter

The next tortilla goes on top of the previous tortilla

Prepping the pan

Ideally you have a cast iron, or thick bottomed stainless steel frying pan

Ideally you have a thin bladed stainless steel spatula with a lot of springy flex and a good handle .

Turn a burner on high

Get that pan and burner hot,

If you drop butter in the pan and the butter starts to burn, the pan is too hot. Water dripped onto the pan should instantly turn to steam

Frying the Tortillas

Get a frying pan really hot, ¼ of full burner power, water should sizzle and pop as soon as it touches the pan.

DO NOT put tortillas into a cool pan, they will stick, and not turn out well

With a tortilla in one hand and a teaspoon of water in the other

drop a teaspoon of water, and or a bit of butter into the pan

Immediately plop a tortilla on that sizzling hopping water/butter

With a spatula press the tortilla down, it should sizzle energetically

With the spatulat pressing down swish the tortilla around the pan in circles 3 or 5 times

Lift up the spatula.. Let the tortilla sizzle on the pan on it’s own for a few seconds

As soon as the tortilla starts to bubble flip it over.

WARNING. If this technique is working the very rim of the tortilla will start to stick to the pan. THIS IS A GOOD THING, it means the tortilla was fully soaked, and is cooking properly. BUT if you just try to shove the spatula under the tortilla like a pancake, the tortilla will rip.

work your spatula around the whole edge of the tortilla to scrape the whole rim off the pan.

This whole process takes 3 to 5 seconds per side, Each tortilla maybe takes 20 seconds.

The tortilla is done when it has a golden brown crust on each side and starts to stiffen up

Slide that tortilla off the pan onto a separate dry “receiving” plate

I will try to do 2 tortillas at a time, sometimes 3 in a big pan, I have done 6 or 8 at a time on a big griddle we use for pancakes or french toast, 

As you progress onto your 3rd or 4th tortilla, the pan may cool down, OR start to over heat, if you are doing a big batch of tortillas you will likely have to adjust the temperature several times (this is for a classic electric stove, gas burners are no problem, higher end electric stoves don’t have as much a problem

Why this works and tastes so good The perfect tortilla is a golden brown on each side with bubbles that have made dark brown spots. The tortilla has a paper thin layer of dense brown cooked corn on each side of the tortilla, and the tortilla has a soft, completely cooked center.

This is achieved because my technique is both steaming the tortilla and frying it. Basically the whole tortilla gets steamed, and the thinnest outer part gets fried.

The water dissolves the corn flower, while infusing spices and fat from the meat into the corn meal. The hot pan turns the water to steam. and re-constitutes the corn meal into real yummy corn bread that holds together and has a much better texture than raw, or plane steamed/microwaved tortillas. The butter fry’s the outside of the tortilla giving it a slightly crispy exterior and a bunch of flavor that is separate and different than the flavor of the inside of the thin tortilla.

The tortilla will LOOK COOKED, with no hints of the powdery colored look of a raw tortilla.

Storage and reheating Leftover tortillas need to be stored in the fridge. These tortillas, because they have been cooked, will keep for a really long time and retain their flavor (weeks if kept in a ziploc baggie, or covered with plastic wrap.

RE-Heating. These tortillas taste just fine if nuked for 20 seconds in a sealed container with a slightly damp paper towel. Ideally a plate with a bit of plastic wrap over the top of it.

The Whole Taco Bar Spread

The third thing about Dads tacos is everybody gets to make their own the way they like them, with as little or as much of a plethora of ingredients.

Mains:

Dad’s Special Taco Meat

Dad’s Specially prepared corn tortillas

Flour Tortillas (12”)

Crunchy hard taco shells from a store

grated Tillamook sharp cheddar cheese

Finely Chopped onions

Finely Chopped fresh tomatoes

Finely chopped lettuce

Chili (ideally freshly made, but usually we do canned)

Re-Fried Beans

The Ideal taco bar also includes

Chopped Olives

Sour Cream

Uncle Ben’s Long Grain wild rice

Black beans (cooked)

Pinto beans (cooked)

Chopped baby onions

Salsa (ideally roasted chipotle or adobo)

Corn chips

grated Medium Cheddar cheese

grated jack cheese

grated colby cheese

Velveeta based cheese sauce (made with some taco seasoning)

Chili flakes/roasted thai chilis

Non vinegar based hot sauce (like the kind they make in mexican restaurants)

The ideal taco assembly in order

This ordering is not random or by fiat, but developed scientifically through over 40 years of experimentation trial and error. The order of ingredients DOES change the flavor and mouth feel of a taco. Also this order provides some structure and hope that the whole assemblage holds together as you fold, hold it and move it to your mouth. 

Big Plate, ya need a big plate

1 to 6 tortillas laid out on the plate (if you do 6 you get the nickname el-gordo)

Spoon in refried beans down the center of each tortilla, spread it thin like peanut butter

Spoon in the meat on top of that

Chili

black beans

pinto beans

Salsa

All the cheese

Onions

Tomato

Baby onions

Olives

Cheese sauce

Sour cream 

Sour Cream Technique 

Sour cream should be closest to the lips, and the next thing after the tortillia that hits the taste buds. Sour cream is thick and sticky.Usually it can’t be labeled or spread on the loose fillings of a taco without messing it all up. Dad has discovered technique for getting sour cream on a loaded taco is to not try to blob it on top of all the loose stuff, but use a butter knife and spread it on the exposed lips of the tortilla, Sour cream is sticky, and spreads real well, you also don’t need a lot of it, spreading it on the lips of the tortilla will help hold the taco together as you take your first byte and spread out insurees every byte gets a bit of sour cream)

Dad’s Tacos DO NOT INCLUDE

Cilantro

Bell peppers of ANY kind

[marvel-lucy]

The Ultimate Weapon, postscripts

Because I wanted people to suffer, when I wrote my first fic I made it very long, and then added three chapters of postscripts. I’ve merged those three chapters here because quite frankly, nobody needs this crap on their dashboard :) It’s HUGE as a result. Still, here’s Bucky because that makes everything better.

Bucky and I didn’t sleep together that night, or not in the euphemistic sense any way, although we did in the 'falling asleep' sense. He carried me back to his room and we lay on his bed, kissing, then talking, then kissing more, for hours. I felt intoxicated with the taste of him; the salty feel of his tongue on mine; the shivers as he slowly whisper-kissed down my neck. I would have done anything he asked that night, but he didn’t ask and I didn’t know how to.

We feel asleep eventually, waking up in each other’s arms and I could have spent the rest of the day there, watching Bucky sleep. His lips were swollen and red, and I knew I’d done that. His hair was tousled, and it was my fingers that had tangled in it and pulled, making him whimper with desire. There was a red mark just below his collar, and I knew it was my teeth that had put it there. I loved lying there and looking at how I’d marked him, labelled him ‘mine’.

“What you staring at doll?” I didn’t realise he’d woken up, but his blue eyes were watching me watching him. His lips curled into a slow smile and he pulled me closer with the arm that was wrapped around my waist. We were both still fully dressed, his tie was undone and our shoes were off but I was still wearing the red dress I’d regretfully put on the night before, now twisted and hitched up uncomfortably. It felt perfect.

“Just some guy I like”

“Oh, some guy huh?” He tickled me gently on my back. “He anything special then? Should I check him out, make sure he’s legit?”

“Oh he’s something special, I guess. But he’s definitely not legit,” I leant forward and whispered in his ear. “And I like it that way.”

With a laugh, Bucky had rolled over, pulling me on top of him. It was no secret that he was aroused, I could feel the evidence beneath me and gave a little wiggle of my hips against him to make him groan. He wrapped his arms tight around me as I rested up on my elbows.

“You’re pretty damn special too,” he nuzzled his nose against my neck as he spoke. “You deserve so much good stuff, God you’ve missed out on so much, you…” He paused, and I took the opportunity to grind up against him again, my own moan joining his. Then, I let out a huff of disappointment as he rolled me off him and sat up.

“You have missed so damn much haven’t you?” I sat up too, puzzled at the sudden change.

“Um, well, I guess, yeah, but that doesn’t matter does it?”

“You’re 21 now but you haven’t had a chance to do all the normal adolescent stuff. You should do! OK, plan. I’m going to go shower and do some… stuff. You go shower and I’ll meet you in the kitchen?” He kissed me on the lips and went to stand up before leaning back over and kissing me harder. I pulled against his neck to try and keep him there and he kissed me deeper still, but then pulled away.

“Don’t tempt me. And don’t pout!” He grinned. “Good things are coming doll”. And with that, he’d gone into the bathroom.

I flung myself back against the bed with frustrated desire, but now that Bucky had gone, I realised just how uncomfortable and grubby I felt, so sulkily I sat back up and got up. Feeling like a misbehaving teen, I was about to sneak along the corridor – although I knew I WAS allowed in someone else’s room – but then spotted one of Bucky’s sweatshirts on the back of a chair. I grabbed it up and held it to my face – he’d been wearing it yesterday and it still had the Bucky smell I loved. I smiled and took it with me as I went back to my room to shower.

Las time I’d dressed up, I’d ended up showering in my – well, Nat’s - clothes. At least this time I took my clothes off and my head felt a lot better. I showered, enjoying the sensation as the water stung against bite marks on my neck and shoulders; then dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, pulling Bucky’s sweatshirt over the top. It was of course too big for me, reaching mid-thighs and covering my hands, and I loved the feeling of being wrapped up in it.

I didn’t really know what was going on between us. He’d asked to kiss me, and I took that as a good sign that he’d wanted to, but was afraid that his odd behaviour this morning was a sign of regret, although it hadn’t felt like one. To be honest, I had no idea what it felt like.

I put some socks on, still enjoying the sensation of warmth and comfort that I got after all this time, and made my way to the kitchen. Most of the team were there, eating, drinking coffee, and just hanging out. I smiled from the doorway at this group, who’d become my friends against all the odds, before they spotted me. Tony saw me first and winked.

“Good night there, Mole?” he asked with a salacious grin, so I slapped the back of his head as I went to get some food, bringing a snigger from Natasha nearby.

In the kitchen, Bucky was making something that smelled amazing. He had his back to me, so I put my arms around his waist, resting my cheek against his back, and he turned in my arms to squeeze me.

“Oh that’s where my sweatshirt went, you damn thief!”

“It looks way cuter on me though” I posed as I spoke and he grinned, pulling me in tight again until a sizzle from the pan behind him made him let go.

“Breakfast is served, beautiful,” he dished something up on to the plates by the stove and handed me one. Bacon and toast were steaming on the dish and my stomach rumbled. I poured out some coffee for both of us and we went back into the dining area, sitting close enough that our legs were touching.

The team gradually made their way over until everyone was sitting around the table, eating and drinking and talking. I felt a wave of affection for them.

“Hey, everyone. Thank you. For my birthday. And for the presents. And the balloons! And, for, taking me in”. I was probably blushing again not helped when Tony rolled his eyes and pointed out that I’d already said thank you all last night. “I know, but you’re al here together, and I just… wanted to”

“Actually I want to say something now you’re all together too,” that was Bucky.

“I realised this morning that Ruby has missed out all those teenage milestones. I wanna, well, re-do them,” his eyes were sparkling and I hadn’t seen him look this happy before. “Stuff all kids get to do. So, what are your suggestions?”

There was a bit of a clamour at that. Steve declared it the cutest idea ever, like the big softie he was. Natasha said her favourite teenage memory was the first time she broke a man’s arm with her thighs. At that, I pointed out that nobody in the room had had a normal adolescence

“Tony – billionaire with absentee parents. Sorry Tony,” he nodded his agreement at the statement and gave me a smile. “Clint – raised in an orphanage. You and Steve – both teenagers 80 years ago. Natasha – teenage assassin… Need I go on?”

“I guess that makes me Mr Normal then!” Sam spoke up. “I’m your expert!”

“OK, 14 to 21. What’s she missed out?” I was torn between amusement and embarrassment at this, but it was all in good fun so listened in as Sam, and then the whole team, gradually started coming up with ideas. A minute later, Bucky stood up and started rooting through a cupboard before finding a piece of paper and a pen. I muttered ‘seriously?’ as he started writing a list.

*Cinema date. Making out in the back seat of a car. Your boyfriend climbing the drainpipe to sneak into your room…

“My room is on the 36th floor Bucky!” I protested.

“Ooh, prom!” Sam said, as everyone ignored my interjection.

The list continued. ‘First breakup, sweet 16, temper tantrums, graduation, first alcohol, first hangover, learning to drive…’

Eventually the list stopped, as the ideas started getting more ridiculous.

“Right, one more thing to add,” Bucky said, standing up and moving into the kitchen. “You get to have your teenage years all in one go, sugar. Trust me, it’ll be worth it when you’re all grown up.” He added something to the list then stuck it to the fridge with a magnet before giggling to himself and leaving the room.

I stood up to see what he’d done and then stopped, stock still in the middle of the room, as the rest of the Avengers also looked and then cracked up with laughter. I could feel my face burning up.

The list started innocently enough: ‘learn to drive, graduate, first date, prom…’ but then at the bottom, Bucky had written ‘have sex with good looking guy’ and drawn a damn winky face next to it. Whoever taught him about emojis had a lot to answer for.

I muttered ‘shut up the lot of you’ while also trying not to smile, and left the room to find Bucky. He was back in his room, looking something up on the computer and gave me a beaming smile when I knocked and entered.

“What do you think then?”

“Wait, are you serious?”

“Yes. Well, yea, I thought It might be fun…” his face fell. “I was going to take you out on a date. I mean, if you don’t want to though…”

It hadn’t occurred to me he really meant this but when I thought about the list, and all the things it represented, I felt tears well up unexpectedly. He was right. I’d been taken as a 14-year-old, just starting my adolescent life, and dumped back in the world at 20. I couldn’t ever get those years back, but this was a way to at least have fun pretending, to get a flavour of normal life and to just be silly for a while. The fact that someone wanted to do this for me, something so ridiculous and so meaningful, hit me hard.

“I love it,” I pushed the computer off his lap and sat there myself, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling us close together. “I love that you’re giving me back what I missed out on.” He smiled again and kissed me and for a while, everything else was forgotten.

A little later, Bucky pulled himself away from me, making me whine with displeasure.

“Mm, I’d stay here all day if I could, sweetheart,” his voice was throaty with desire. “But I’ve got some dates to plan. Go work out with Steve, use up some energy. If you stay here, I’m not going to be able to resist you.” He winked and then picked me up and dumped me off his lap. He squeezed his eyes closed. “Get gone, temptress” and I laughed as I made my way out of the room.

So I did go and work out. I punched bags and ran on the treadmill and lifted weights and wore myself out for hours because it was still sometimes the only way I could stop myself thinking. Despite everything the Avengers had done, I still hadn’t come to terms yet with what I was, what I’d done. Sometimes physical exhaustion was the only way to get out of my head. I’d been there for about three hours when Steve came in. I asked if he wanted to spar but he said he wanted to talk. That felt ominous. I was still a little twitchy that at any point I’d be asked to leave because I didn’t fit in.

But it wasn’t that.

“You know, Bucky likes you, don’t you?” That was unexpected. I guess I looked puzzled. I mean, we’d kissed sure. A lot. And I would happily do it some more. But I figured that Bucky just wanted someone to kiss, and there weren’t that many opportunities to meet people when you were an ex-assassin with a metal arm.

“He’s just having fun Steve. It’s fine. You know I’m grateful to you all, for, well, everything. Putting up with me? Accepting me. Bucky’s my friend…”

“So what, are you saying you kissed him out of gratitude? Or a sense of obligation?” Steve looked angry now, I guess that wouldn’t fit his moral code.

“No, no! I…” Ugh. Blushing. Don’t look him in the eyes. Not that that was hard, he was so much taller than me. Looking straight on, I was eye to eye with his nipples. OK, no, that was weird too. “I… like Bucky. A lot. I mean, um. A lot.” Looking down now, eyes on the floor, don’t want to see Cap smirking at me. “He’s… saved me I guess. I feel safe with him. More than safe. I just, like being near him. A lot. But I know what I am, what Hydra made me, I know there’s not going to be anything out there for me, so I’m OK with whatever Bucky wants.”

I wasn’t being very articulate but I really didn’t want this conversation. I went to leave the gym but Steve held onto my arm, and there was no way I could break free of that helicopter-pulling grip without a lot more effort. I took a deep breath and met his gaze, expecting to see a look of amusement at my confession. I didn’t.

“You deserve more than you think. You’re more than what Hydra made you. Just like Bucky.” I blinked. I forgot sometimes that Bucky had been through years of Hydra ‘training’ too. He had his own issues. He’d been free for longer than me and had more time to deal with them, but I also knew that they weren’t buried all that deep.

“You’re as good for Buck as he is for you. And he cares about you. ‘A lot’.” He mimicked my tone and gave me a grin, I guess he’d seen through my verbal shorthand and knew what I meant by that ‘a lot’. He pulled me in towards him and wrapped his ridiculous arms around me then ruffled my hair as I pulled back, exclaiming that I was all sweaty. “Don’t push him away kid, because you don’t think you deserve it.” He let me go and I nodded and walked out of the gym, turning back to hear him call out.

“And you kids enjoy your date tonight!” He was grinning, and I had no idea what he meant.

I got back to my room, showered and changed, and then noticed a text on my phone.

‘Date, tonight? Stark Cinema, 8pm. I’ll pick you up. Bx’

I smiled as I texted back a yes.

At 8pm, there was a knock at my door and on opening it, I found Bucky grinning at me with glee. His eyes were sparkling, and he looked as damn gorgeous as always.

“Hey doll. Wanna go on a date?” Oh, he could charm the birds out of the trees. I loved it but I’d seen him charm everyone from Steve to Thor and so I didn’t take it too seriously. Nonetheless, I took the arm he offered me and felt a spark of electricity jolt through me.

“I know you don’t like crowds that much, so we’re not going out. That OK with you?” I nodded, grateful that we weren’t going to go and sit in a public cinema, but wondering how the usual Avengers movie night was really going to be a date. I guess this really was all just a joke.

When we got to the cinema room though, things were different. The screening room had couches and chairs all scattered here and there normally but someone – Bucky, I guessed – had lined them up in rows like a proper cinema. There was a sign in Bucky’s handwriting saying ‘reserved’ on the back couch. He sat me down on it with a wink.

“Gotta get the back row for a date, right?” The rest of the team started filing in and Bucky played up to his role, showing them to their seats, much to everyone’s amusement. Tony decided he wanted some popcorn at which Bucky pushed him back into his seat and brought out a carton, holding it out to Tony but then moving it out of his reach.

“Five bucks, Stark.”

“What?! You do know this is MY Tower and MY cinema room, Robocop?!”

“Five bucks. Don’t be a cheap date, you’re showing yourself up in front of Pepper.” Pepper grinned and joined in.

“Aren’t I worth it Tony?” Stark sighed and handed over the money, then yelled as Bucky handed out popcorn to everyone else for free. Once everyone was settled, he came and sat next to me on the sofa and set the movie going. It was a comedy – most of the team liked the lighter films, the tension of horrors and the violence of action films often just a little too close to home (although Thor always wanted ‘more blood!’).

Part way through the film, I realised that Bucky had been gradually moving closer to me on the couch. I saw him yawning and then realised he was going for the ‘yawn and stretch’ cliché and felt his arm wrap around my shoulders. I might not have got out much between the ages of 14 and 20, for reasons I don’t need to go into, but I’d seen enough rom-coms as a teenager to know this was a classic date move and it made me giggle. He squeezed my shoulder and whispered in my ear.

“Told you, going to do ALL the teenage high points. Cheesy ones and all.”

We finished watching the movie and then Bucky let Tony choose another as an apology. By now I was curled up against Bucky’s side and holding his hand. This might all be a farce but it felt good nonetheless.

At the end of the movie, everyone gradually made their way back to their rooms. Bucky and I walked back to my room, arms around each other, and I expected – and hoped – he’d come in. At the door, he stopped though, and turned me towards him. He tilted my chin up with one finger and slowly, gently kissed me. If his other arm hadn’t been holding me up, I’m pretty sure I’d have fallen over. I had it BAD. If just a kiss could make my knees weak, what hope was there? Hydra hadn’t given me the training for this.

I felt him smile against my lips, and he kissed me again then broke away. I opened my door and looked at him questioningly, inviting him in, but he shook his head.

“Not on that stage of the list yet, sweetheart.” He started to walk away, but turned and pulled me against him again, kissing me harder and making me gasp. “Not saying it’s easy to resist though...” and then he broke away again and left.

I shut the door behind me and then flung myself down on the bed. I had no life experience to explain this.

--

The next day, I woke up to another text message. ‘Would you accompany me to dinner on Friday, beautiful?’ I smiled to myself as I replied. The week passed slowly, because I was twitchy and wanting Friday evening to come. I did some training, I did some laundry, and I studied with Tony and Steve, but time dragged. Sam asked if I wanted to talk, as we hadn’t for a while, but I said no. I wanted to try and gauge people’s opinions of what was going on with Bucky but at the same time, I was too chicken. I felt like a kid playing at being an adult again, and I didn’t want to be laughed at, reading too much into what was just a fun game. Deep down, I knew I was still just a scarred ex-Hydra tool, and that wasn’t what the magazines told you was desirable. I knew too that my confidence and happiness were still just a pretty thin veneer over the anxiety and the fear, so I kept myself quiet and tried to enjoy things for what they were, not scratch the surface and release the things I was trying to bury.

By mid-afternoon on Friday though, I was a bit of a ball of nerves. Bucky had arranged that we would be eating out of the Tower, something that still scared me. I was fine with going outside but there was a little voice that wondered if Hydra were out there looking for me. I knew that Bucky and I could pretty much take down anything if needed, but I didn’t want to have to. Nat found me pacing on the roof garden with a scowl on my face and forced me to sit down with her.

“You know Bucky likes you, right?”

“Have you been talking to Steve?!” She looked at me, confused.

“What? Look, you need to stop worrying. Get yourself dolled up, enjoy dating an older man.” She winked at me as she said that and I smiled.

“We’re just friends Natasha,” I tried to convince her, then her words sunk in. “Wait, dolled up? Do I ned to dress up? Oh god you know I hate that!”

She smacked me lightly around the back of the head.

“Friends don’t kiss like that. And yes, you do. Come on.”

I let her take control, I’d long since realised it was just easier that way. She took me down to her room and sat me on the bed while she went through her closet, occasionally pulling something out and holding it out near me then scowling and hanging it back up. I knew better than to have any input, but I was glad when she finally handed over a dress that was a lot less… noticeable… than some of the ones she used on missions when she was undercover. White top, short sleeves, black skirt. I wasn’t comfortable with trying to look good – there was never going to be any competition with Nat or Wanda. Or Maria. Or Pepper… Or Tony or Steve, hell, any of them, let’s be honest. But at least I would look presentable.

So at 7pm, I was nervously waiting in my room again. I was berating myself for my nerves. This was Bucky. Bucky, who trained with me, and helped me with panic attacks and… had kissed me. Oh god, yes, nerves.

When I opened the door to his knock, he was smiling sweetly and looking as hot as hell in a suit. I tried to pretend I hadn’t whimpered at the sight. He handed me a bunch of flowers and kissed my cheek.

“Dinner, sweetheart?”

Bucky was the perfect ‘40s gent and I could see why the stories that Steve had told about him being such a hit with the ladies must be true. He held doors open for me, took my coat, pulled out my chair. I could see the waiter swooning over him and was feeling pretty swoony myself. He’d chosen a pretty quiet restaurant and we were seated near the back, which was a relief. I know we both hated to have our backs exposed.

“You watch my back, I’ll watch yours.” To an ex-Hydra weapon, that was a real romantic gesture and I couldn’t help but smile.

The meal was nice and the conversation was good. Bucky was easy to talk to and we steered away from the hard topics – family, murder – all the things they tell you not to discuss at mealtimes (or is that religion and politics?) We talked favourite seasons and ice-cream flavours, argued about football versus basketball, cats versus dogs. We shared least favourite foods and bad jokes and taught each other some swearwords in other languages. Bucky opened up about his life ‘before’, about growing up with Steve, about his family. It was a side of him I’d never seen before.

When the bill came, I made the mistake of trying to split it. Wasn’t that what adults did? (Like I’d now. The last time I’d gone out for a meal my parents had paid… ok don’t think about that).

“Baby, this is a date and I’m old school. I’m paying.” He pulled out a card then grinned. “OK, well, Stark is, but it’s my signature.”

He helped me on with my coat, and opened the door for me, then walked around so he was on the side nearest the road and offered me his arm.

“I’m pretty sure this isn’t how teenage dates normally go Bucky, teenagers aren’t this sweet or considerate!”

“They were in my day darling. Or I was anyway.” He kissed the side of my forehead as we walked. “And you deserve it.”

I was falling for him. Hard.

--

Making breakfast the next day (after another night alone, seen off with another fantastic kiss at my door), I noticed that someone – presumably Bucky – had been crossing things off the list on the fridge. I also noticed that someone – and I was pretty sure that was Tony’s handwriting – had added ‘so many to choose from’ to Bucky’s ‘have sex with a good looking guy’. I grinned. Like there was any choice.

I didn’t have to wait long for the next date. On Wednesday morning, Bucky appeared as I was finishing my breakfast and grabbed my hand.

“We gotta go before he realises!”

I tried to ask ‘what’ and ‘who’ but Bucky was pulling me along the corridors to the elevator. As Bucky pushed the button for the parking level, he held up something in his hand – one of Tony’s car keys – and his eyes flashed with wicked humour.

“Oh my god, you are in SO much trouble!”

That didn’t stop us of course. Bucky had picked one of Tony’s most expensive cars to teach me to drive in. He opened the passenger door for me and then got in the driver’s seat himself, and we set off, heading out into the countryside to the Avenger’s other compound. We were both laughing, especially when my phone and then Bucky’s both buzzed with text messages when Tony obviously realised we’d taken his precious car.

“Should I reply?” I giggled and Bucky nodded.

‘Thanks for letting me use the Ferrari to learn to drive Tony, you’re a sweetheart! Rx’

The reply, when it came, contained words that I’m sure would have made Steve faint.

When we got to the compound, Bucky leapt out before I could move and had opened my door again, then let me into the driver’s seat. I had no clue at all what I was doing and, I have to admit, driving a car that was – with Tony’s customisations – probably worth well over $500,000, was pretty nerve-wracking. But hell, it was fun.

The roads in the compound were smooth, there were no obstacles, no pedestrians and no other cars, so I hoped that I couldn’t do a huge amount of damage. I can’t say I did well, but it was my first lesson, and I only stalled a handful of times. And put the brakes on too hard once or twice… or three times. After about an hour, my muscles hurt from the tension of holding the wheel and Bucky was starting to look a little green with the motion sickness. I happily relinquished control and he drove us home to face the music.

When we got home, Tony harangued us like two naughty schoolchildren while we hung our heads, tried not to meet each other’s eyes and giggled. Eventually he sighed and gave up, before going to inspect his car to see if we’d hurt her.

Bucky kissed me again and went off to train with Steve and I headed back to my room, feeling lighter and happier than I had for a long time. Only a few minutes later, there was a knock at the door and I opened it to find Tony standing there.

He came in, arms crossed, and I started to feel a little guilty. How would I pay if we HAD damaged his car?! But then he held out something to me, and I saw it was a car key.

“It’s just as well you’ve got me under the thumb, Mole, but you take one of my cars again and so help me, even the Hulk will seem like a feather in comparison.” I looked up at him, starting to stumble through an apology, and then saw he was grinning. “While you were off joyriding, I got you your own car. And lessons. With someone who didn’t learn to drive in the 40s.” He pushed the car key into my hand as I tried to refuse it, stammering that he’d already given me so much, but he waved away my thanks and started to leave, then turned back to me.

“You know old Metal Arm likes you Mole, don’t you?” What the hell was this?!

“Did you get that line from Steve or Nat?!” Tony looked at me, puzzled.

“You’re a good kid. He’s a… difficult man. Got a lot of issues. Hell, we all do I guess. He could be good for you, and you could be good for him, but if he hurts you, you tell me, and I will suit up for you and take him out.” Then, with a wave, he left.

--

The next morning, ‘learn to drive’ was crossed off the list, and ‘wanna fight me, Tin Man’ was added below Tony’s comment in Bucky’s writing.

I was keeping myself busy between these dates, if that’s what they really were. Training, spending time with different members of the team, trying to live a normal life, catching up on news and sport and TV and trying to learn what I’d missed. I was also still studying with Bruce and Tony. Ashamed of my lack of education, I’d been working long and hard to improve myself. I’d been a top student back when I was at school and the serum had had some kind of effect on my abilities too, so I was a quick learner with an almost eidetic memory now. As a result, it was only a little while later that I was ready to take my GED. Bucky and Steve had gone off for a mission, which allowed me to study without distraction for a while (although Bruce sighed pointedly as the fourth text message in an hour came through from Bucky while we were revising chemistry).

A week after my driving lesson, I went off to a local school to sit some exams. Tony, being Tony, had paid out and fixed things so I’d get my results almost immediately so it was only a few days later that I opened my letter to find I’d passed, with excellent grades. OK, so I’d missed out on High School and god knows as an Avenger nobody was going to be asking to see my qualifications, but it was important to me, a step to becoming ‘normal’ that I hadn’t realised mattered.

When Bucky and Steve got back that evening, the champagne was cracked open and everyone celebrated. I felt silly, but once I’d had enough champagne, joined in the fun. I looked around the room part way through the evening and felt a rush of gratitude at the things these people were doing for me. Then I caught Bucky’s eye where he was talking to Clint, and felt an even bigger rush of … something. The same something I’d felt when he’d picked me up in his arm as soon as he got off the quinjet. He’d smelt of sweat and gunpowder and nights in the woods and it was enough to make me groan, that he’d come straight to see me before heading to the medlab or debrief, or a shower.

There weren’t really many missions at the moment, so it was good to have them back, but it did mean that the team were throwing themselves into the craziest things to fill the time (despite Steve insisting we could use the time for training or research or bettering ourselves. Clint had thrown a cushion at him and got Cap straight in the face for that). So that was why two days later I found myself in a graduation gown and cap, feeling incredibly ridiculous, while the team sat on folding chairs on the roof garden, and Bucky shook my hand and presented me with a diploma. Everyone clapped and I bowed with an embarrassed grin before throwing my hat in the air then swearing as a gust of wind caught it and blew it off the roof. A little later Tony got quite tearful and hugged me repeatedly, saying he felt like a proud father, until Pepper rolled her eyes and took him away.

When Bruce and I were sorting dinner that night (Ok, we answered the door to a pizza delivery and were sorting beer and pizza to take up to the roof), he stopped me for a second and with a nervous rumble, spoke.

“You know Barnes likes you, don’t you?”

I sighed. Four times now.

“You’re a bright kid. I saw that, teaching you. Think about what you want to do next? You could go to college. Or come work with me in the lab. But Barnes likes you and that’s a good thing. It’s not easy for people like us always to… get that.” I could see a faraway look in his eyes, although he wasn’t looking at me. I’d heard that there was something between him and Nat but things hadn’t worked out.

He met my eyes briefly, mumbled something, and then grabbed up the beer and left. I liked Bruce a lot, we’d worked together on my studies and I had helped him out in the lab running some tests. This was probably the first personal conversation we’d had though, and it touched me. Whatever reason Bucky had for this adolescent do-over, it was bringing me closer to a lot of the team, and for that I’d always be grateful.

I looked over at the fridge note. ‘Graduate’ was crossed off. ‘Bring it on, Buckyboy’ was written in Tony’s writing underneath Bucky’s ‘wanna fight me’. And next on the list was ‘prom’. Oh boy.

Well, what happens next after graduation but prom?! By the time this was next on Bucky’s fridge list, everyone was getting into the swing of things. We hadn’t had a mission in a while and when you get a lot enhanced or powerful soldiers, assassins, gods and the like, and don’t give them much to do… well, energy was high and pranks were getting ridiculous (think water balloons off the top of the tower, custard in Thor's boots…). This was a good distraction.

One evening everyone was sitting around talking and the group were sharing prom stories. Bucky admitted he’d ‘gotten a little fresh’ with Dot, who he’d taken to his senior prom. Bucky’s turn of phrase made Tony snigger, until Steve pointed out that in the 1930s, good girls didn’t put out. Of course, that didn’t make the sniggering any less, especially when Bucky pointed out with a leer that Dot had been really, REALLY good. Natasha then went and sat on Steve’s lap, all pouty lips and cleavage.

“Do you really think good girls shouldn’t, Stevie?” She used her best breathy voice and gave a little wriggle as Steve went bright red and gulped, shaking his head.

“No, I mean, things were different then. Whatever people want is fine right?”

“Oh good,” Natasha climbed off Steve’s lap, having made him as uncomfortable as possible, “I’d hate to tell Sharon you thought she was bad.” At that Steve groaned and buried his head in a pillow while Nat looked proud at the impact she’d had.

Tony’s prom story rambled on, and seemed to involve a lot of alcohol, a fast car, and at least two prom dates. Bruce’s admitted he’d taken his friend’s sister, who had then gone off with the quarterback while Bruce was trying to work out how to make the sound system louder with a bit of rewiring. Wanda looked bemused by the whole conversation, admitting that they didn’t have proms in Sokovia but she was looking forward to this one if it was anything like these stories.

The conversation came around to Steve, who’d now lifted his head out of the cushions and regained his composure. Clint asked if there was some heroic and honourable story about Steve saving his date’s life or rescuing her from a burning building, which was when Steve admitted he’d never gone to his prom because he couldn’t get a date. Seventy-odd years, a whole load more biceps, and the addition of Sharon, and you could still see the rejection in his face. I felt about ready to cry and was determined that Steve would get a do-over, just as I was. I wasn’t alone in that feeling.

“That’s it, we’re going Full Prom!” Tony declared. And that’s why, two weeks later, the room usually reserved for fancy dinners and swanky Stark Industries parties was now being overly decorated. Tony and Nat had wanted modern glamour and so there were beautiful arches and silver stars and globe lights; Bucky and Steve were reminiscing about the proms of the '30s and wanted something a little more understated, with a nice meal and a dance; Clint and Wanda decided to start research by watching a slew of films and declared we needed synchronised dancing like Footloose and an Under the Sea theme like Back to the Future. My only requirement was balloons. Balloon arches, balloon sculptures, a man who could make balloon animals, and one of those nets of balloons that falls down. OK, so I was getting kind of into it now too. Most of Stark Industries seemed to be invited and there were constant deliveries of alcohol, decorations, red carpets and god only knows what.

In the time before the prom, I kept busy. I trained non-stop, working out my frustrations on Steve and Nat. Nat was a great trainer and I always left her sessions aching but pleased with my progress. She taught me to use my abilities properly, not just throwing myself into the fray, but quickly assessing where and when to strike – Hydra’s training had been all about power, but this was much more subtle.

I worked out with Bucky a few times too. We were evenly matched and with Nat’s training, I was an even more able fighter. However, although we started off well, we never managed more than about an hour before one of us would manage to knock the other to the ground, pin them down and then… we wouldn’t train any more. Something about Bucky all sweating and panting, pinned to a mat, was a distraction.

A week before the big day, Tony decided to take me shopping. I still wasn’t entirely comfortable out and about, always having the fear of recapture by Hydra at the back of my mind so Tony paid for the shop to be closed while we were there. We spent half a day with Tony bringing me dress after dress to try on, while the shop staff helped out, or sat around and ate pizza that Tony had ordered in. I didn’t particularly like shopping but Tony was throwing his all into this, as he always did and I was getting caught up in his enthusiasm. Eventually a dress was chosen, along with shoes and everything that needed to go underneath it (luckily Tony decided to hand me over to the staff for that bit, declaring that he did not need those thoughts in his head, or Pepper would know).

When we got back to the Tower later on, I put my new purchases away in my room and took a moment to think about how my life had changed. It was still hard to connect my life now with the suburban life I’d once had, and even harder to realise that in such a short space of time I’d gone from Hydra assassin, desperate to die, to… whatever this was. Part of the weirdest family ever known. Friend to gods and billionaires. Accepted. I still found it hard to believe but whenever I felt myself sinking low, I wrapped that word in my heart and it gave me a new strength.

Over dinner that night, Pepper joked that Tony had never taken her shopping for so long, and asked if she should be jealous – all said with a grin.

“Mole is like the daughter I was lucky enough never to actually have” Tony replied, adding “Be thankful you haven’t had to raise her!”

“Gee thanks, ‘Dad’, should I storm out of the room at that?” I added, revelling in this ridiculous family. They’d never replace my own, true family and my heart would always break to think of them, but I wasn’t alone any more. Tony smirked and pointed out that ‘teenage temper tantrum’ was on Bucky’s list but Bruce had written that with my powers, it might be a bit much.

“Hey, if you’re the Dad, should I be asking your permission to take your daughter to prom then?” I know that Steve loved it when Bucky joined in with these jokes. He’d admitted to me that although Bucky had been part of the team before I joined, it was only recently that he’d relaxed and felt as comfortable too. I was proud, and slightly astonished, to think that I might have had anything to do with that.

“Well now young man,” Tony decided to play along, despite being around 50 years younger than Bucky, “what are your intentions towards my not-quite-daughter?” Bucky winked at me as he came over to where I was sitting.

“Entirely dishonourable, sir. Downright filthy.” The team broke down in gales of laughter as Bucky leant over and kissed me hard on the lips, and I blushed scarlet.

-- Two nights before prom, I was woken by a knocking sound. I was halfway to open the door when I realised the noise was coming from the window. I pulled the curtains back to find Bucky, hanging on to the side of the building.

“Jesus! Buck, this is the 36th floor!” I yelled as I scrambled to open the window. Not even a supersoldier could fall that far and survive, I was pretty sure. Once the window was open though, Bucky swung in slowly and I realised he was attached to a rope. He freed the clip around his chest and threw the end of the rope back out of the window, and suddenly Sam flew past, saluting and grinning as he went. He’d been holding the rope on Bucky while Bucky decided, in his own peculiar way, to climb the 36 floors to my bedroom window. Just because it was on the damn list.

So it was almost midnight and I was alone with Bucky in my room in the dark. You can imagine what happened next, right?

No.

He still didn’t stay. Oh, he didn’t leave straight away. It was almost midnight, and I was in my pyjamas, and he did have a lot of adrenaline pumping through him. He tried not to let his hands wander, but they did. I can tell you, there’s no better way to wake up than with one warm flesh hand, and one cool metal hand, sliding under your top.

The next day, I took Bucky out in the car Tony had bought me. I’d been secretly practicing with Sam every day – as the calmest of the team, he seemed the best choice for an instructor - and I was getting pretty good now. My enhanced reflexes and physical skills meant I was picking things up pretty well, and able to respond to other cars quickly. It was good driving with Sam as well because it was a chance to talk, but without the awkwardness of face-to-face. Sometime it was easier to open up when you couldn’t see the person you spoke to. I’d got very close to Sam, loving his childish side but also the fact that he matched that with an equal level of deep thoughtfulness, which I relied on heavily. I don’t think I’d have healed nearly as much as I had – or accepted the bits of me that would never heal, but learnt to live with them – without his incisiveness, his ability to show me another view point.

That said, when we went out for a practice that morning, and he opened with ‘Barnes likes you, you know that, right?’ I sighed.

“You’re the fifth person to say exactly that to me Sam, what’s going on?” He smiled, obviously amused by my resigned tone.

“People care. About both of you. We can see how good you both are for each. You’ve made Bucky more human. He smiles more with you than Steve’s seen since the '30s, he’s not so tortured any more. And the same goes for you, you’re more willing to accept who you are when he’s around. It’s adorable to watch, and when people you care about get happy, after a hell of a time, it feels good.” I had my eyes on the road but I could sense him smiling.

“Thing is, you’re both dumb. I bet you wouldn’t tell each other how you feel, so that’s up to us to do.”

“Wait, both of us?” That threw me, was Bucky getting the same chats as I was?

“Oh yeah. I mean, we all want to make sure you know how he feels, and same goes the other way. I’ve spent long hours trying to convince Bucky that you like him too. Neither of you feel deserving but you both gotta believe it.”

“So you told Bucky I like him?” I could feel myself getting flustered, even though I was pretty sure my feelings were obvious. I turned to look at Sam, wondering what reaction Bucky had given him.

“Woooah, eyes on the road!” I jerked my head back round as Sam continued. “Yeah, I did. And Steve did, repeatedly. Told him to behave around you, very honourable, very Cap. Oh and Nat punched Bucky in the head and told him if he hurt you, she’d go Red Room on his ass.” That made me smile. “To be honest, I’m sure Steve would say the same to you if he could bring himself to behave like that.”

“I don’t want to hurt Bucky, Sam, not ever.”

We continued driving after that, and I could feel a sense of warmth inside me, that people were looking out for me and rooting for me and Bucky. Sam asked how I was doing, generally, and I admitted that I was doing ok. I was even happy sometimes. I was having fun, living a normal life (or as normal as you can be living with the Avengers in a skyscraper).

So when I took Bucky out for a drive that afternoon, I was determined to show him that I was doing well too. I was pretty tense without Sam beside me, but I’d practiced the route I wanted to go and although I gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my enhanced strength left finger marks, we made it there.

“Where are we?” Bucky asked as I parked in a clearing by a river. I could see he was making a quick threat assessment but I’d already scouted this place out and figured it was OK.

“Um, no idea really. But it’s secluded, so I decided to help you cross something off the list.” I felt a little awkward in case he rejected me, but his eyes widened as I climbed into the back seat of the car and gave him an encouraging nod. His jaw dropped when I slowly started to pull my t-shirt over my head, and by the time it was off, he’d scrambled into the back seat too, practically breaking the seat in his haste.

Bucky sat down and pulled me onto his lap, straddling his legs. My heart was racing just from being near him, and when he reached up and traced my lips with his soft warm fingers, I let out an involuntary whimper. Moments later, he did the same as he watched me suck one of his fingers into my mouth, and when I rocked my hips on his lap, his mouth fell open and his eyes closed, his metal arm pulling me closer. He pulled his finger out of my mouth and kissed me harder as I ground my hips into him, both of us moaning with the sensations.

By the time we drove back to the Tower, it was fully dark and we were both tousled and frustrated, Bucky insisting on trying to keep things PG-13 (but we’d definitely slipped into R rated at times.)

The day of the prom, there was an increasing stream of deliveries and I helped Pepper out, giving her a break from signing for flowers, food, glasses, a band, and all the other things that Tony had ordered as soon as it had crossed his mind. Finally, the deliveries seemed to stop, and we both set off to get ready.

I showered, put on the dress Tony had helped me choose, put on some makeup Wanda had explained to me, and took a deep breath to steady myself. I was about to go out of the door when there was a knock.

“You weren’t going without me were you, doll?” I couldn’t catch my breath at the sight of Bucky in a suit in front of me. His hair was looking curly and I could smell his cologne, and all I wanted to do was to pull him into the room and lock the door. He had a box in his metal hand and winked at me as he opened it and pulled out a corsage, then tied it around my wrist. Holding me at arm’s length, he whistled quietly to himself.

“Jeez. You’re beautiful Ruby. Beautiful.” He spun me around and then stopped when he saw that my dress was backless. I felt his hand slide slowly down my spine, stopping where my dress began, and resting on the curve of my back. Bucky’s voice cracked as he spoke, almost whispering to himself. “You’re so damn hot. Good enough to eat, I’ve got a mind to just stay in here with you and ignore the party tonight.”

I turned myself back around to face him and stood closer, our bodies touching. His hand on the small of my back pulled me against him and made it hard to think. I pressed a small kiss on his lips, then kept my mouth against his as I spoke.

“You know you’re a goofball right?” He grinned against my mouth, while his hand slipped lower and squeezed.

“Yeah, but it’s a fantastic feeling. You’ve made me happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

We stopped speaking and kissed, and I felt my knees go weak at the taste of him. I knew things were going to be different after this evening and so we were able to make the kiss gentler, none of the frantic clashing of lips that we’d been making do with for the last few weeks. This was slow, firm, and intoxicating. When we broke off, Bucky rested his forehead against mine as we both fought to regain control of our breath.

“We should get out there doll, just… give me a minute.” I slid my hand down the outside of his trousers, teasingly, as he groaned. “That’s not going to help!”

Stepping back, I gave Bucky space while I put my shoes on, then hand-in-hand, we headed for the elevator.

The whole floor of function rooms had been transformed, Tony having gone a little overboard. We had dinner in one room, fantastic food, at a table full of my friends. It was a little odd that everyone at the table kept making jokes about how ‘Bucky was going to get lucky’ that night, surely it wasn’t normal for all your friends to know about your sex life? By the time the meal was over, a combination of wine, nerves, excitement, and the feel of Bucky’s hand hot and heavy on my thigh, had meant I’d long since stopped caring. That and knowing that these people just wanted me to be happy.

After the meal, we had our photos taken, hamming it up for the photographer with cheesy poses that would either make us look back and laugh, or wince, when the pictures came through. The rooms were full with Stark employees, ex-SHIELD agents and staff, families and friends, all making their way through rooms filled with an odd mix of silver stars, balloons and crepe paper jellyfish. It was perfect.

Our group came together and broke apart throughout the evening, but Bucky was my constant. Our hands barely stopped touching all night, and when they did it was just so we could wrap our arms around each other instead. Dancing with Bucky was just as seductive as it had been the first time, an excuse to stand close together, to move in time, to ignore the rest of the world and focus on the physical sensations. Kissing Bucky while we danced, I was glad of the music to drown out the pants and gasps I wasn’t able to hold back. The anticipation of the rest of the night was almost unbearable.

Part way through the evening, the music came to a halt and Tony appeared on the stage, microphone in hand.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you ALL for coming to this most bizarre Prom! A more wonderful collection of misfits could not be found. And as the organiser – and funder – of this extravaganza, it’s my duty and pleasure to announce the Prom King and Queen!”

He flourished an envelope as Bucky whispered ‘you didn’t vote right? This is a Tony fix!’ in my ear. Tony pulled out a piece of paper and made a pretend gasp of amazement.

“Who would have guessed, how could it be?! Please make your way to the stage to be crowned… Captain America and Molegirl!”

The crowd was all laughing as Steve and I stepped up onto the stage, embarrassed but amused. Tony insisted on his rights as compere to kiss the Queen, then made Steve blush further by insisting on kissing him too. I’m sure I saw tongues and Steve looked completely befuddled when Tony let him up for air.

With crowns and sashes, Steve and I made our way to the dance floor for our first dance. I could see Bucky over Steve’s shoulder, tears of delight in his eyes as we shuffled together.

“Let’s do this properly Ruby,” Steve smiled at me. I could see that behind the embarrassment, he was secretly thrilled by everything, the big kid in him never really lost. Our crowns sliding about, Steve wrapped his arms around me and dipped and spun me, playing up to the moment. As everyone else started dancing again, he calmed down, hugging me to him.

“Thank you, for everything you’ve done for Buck.” He gave me a squeeze as he spoke. “I know he thinks I want the old Bucky back, the pre-Hydra, pre-Winter Soldier, pre-war one. I know he’s gone, but it’s still so good to see this Buck so happy. And it’s down to you.” He kissed the top of my head, then dipped me again. “And it’s just as good to see you happy too.”

He pulled me up and spun me again, straight into Bucky’s waiting arms, then with a regal bow, wandered off, no doubt to look for Sharon.

All this craziness, from cinema dates to prom, had taken three months. It’s amazing what a team of super-intelligent super-powered people can do when they’re bored. But in that three months, Bucky and I hadn’t done more than some major make out sessions. By now I was pretty much ready to hump a table and I was fairly sure that Bucky felt the same, but working through his list had been important to him and to be honest, I had loved just doing some fun, crazy, relaxing, stupid stuff. There’d been some real team bonding; we were a family now and that family mattered.

Nothing stopped the nightmares that still came at times, and I still needed to talk to Sam because there were days when my anxiety blew up; when I didn’t believe that I was needed or wanted, or that I deserved all this; and there were days when the guilt I felt about being happy, when I’d killed so many people, filled my head. But on those days, there was Sam to talk me down; Natasha who understood what that was like; Bruce who’d just tuck me under one arm and talk science to me until I was distracted. Tony would nod sympathetically and then depending on his mood, take me out to do barrel rolls in the quinjet or else hide under a blanket with me and watch reruns of old black and white movies. Wanda would let me look in her head, where you can’t lie, to see how much she cared. And through all that, Bucky would be there, for whatever I needed, whenever.

He’d ask Jarvis to let him know if I had a nightmare, and he’d appear in my room and hold me. When I was panicky, he’d ground me by sitting and singing to me, in a darkened room. When I stopped believing I was loved, he’d hold me and kiss me, and describe in detail how he loved my fingers, for being willing to touch his scars; how he loved my lips, for kissing him and making him feel whole; how he loved my eyes, because they never looked at him with horror, just as he never looked at me that way. He’d tell me how much the team needed me, how I provided the balance to Tony, the friend Natasha needed, the willing ear to Bruce when no one else understood, the prank partner to Sam and Clint. When I felt overcome with guilt, I knew he understood and we’d reassure each other silently. I hoped, and believed, that I did the same for Bucky. He was further along in his ‘recovery’ than me, but the memories of what he’d done as the Winter Soldier, and what had been done to him, were always there, and I supported him through those as much as he supported me.

Those three months had brought us closer together emotionally, but physically Bucky had been adamant that we wait. We’d kissed so much those months that I was a wonder our lips didn’t bleed. And now tonight, we both knew that there’d be a lot more than that. We were in each other’s arms, dancing – or at least, swaying together, while trying to keep as much of our bodies in contact as possible.

“You know I like you, right?” Bucky’s mouth was near my ear and I could feel his breath, warm, as he spoke.

“It’s been mentioned. And I picked up on some subtle clues.” I lifted my chin to look at him, even in heels I was still shorter than he was. “And you know I like you too, right?”

“Kinda guessed. D’you want to get out of here?”

I didn’t bother replying. I just pulled his hand and walked to the elevator. I could hear Bucky chuckling behind me.

Don’t get me wrong, I was nervous. I’d never done this before. But I knew how Bucky made me feel and if I didn’t get more of him soon, I’d burst, or melt, or something. And, most importantly, I trusted him. To take it slow if I was anxious, to make me feel good, to take the lead but to show me how. Damn, that elevator couldn’t come soon enough.

When we got to Bucky’s room, the nerves did kick in harder. All the old anxieties about not being deserving of someone I cared about, not being worthy of happiness, plus a whole host more anxieties about not knowing what I was doing, about my scars, about how much I wanted to make Bucky feel good. The anxiety must have shown on my face. Bucky pulled me into him, and tangled his hand in my hair, pulling my head back slightly. He pressed a chaste kiss on my lips, then spoke quietly.

“Forget the list. Forget everything. It’s just us two here and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want.” He kissed my forehead and I leant myself against him fully. I could feel the shape of his muscles, shifting inside his suit as he moved, his thighs adjusting to support my weight, his arm around my waist. Eyes shut, I let myself relax, then slowly showed him I was ready through the way I moved against him.

“I want you. James.” He let out a small growl at the sound of his name. I stepped away from him, biting my lip as he tugged once at my hair before letting go, then reached up to undo the button at my neck, the only fastening holding my dress on.

As the fabric of my dress slithered down my body, pooling on the floor at my feet, Bucky’s head fell back, his eyes still on mine, as he moaned hard and loud. I was trying hard not to hide myself; I knew that Bucky had seen me naked before, and I’d fought and trained nude with Hydra. But this was so different and I felt more exposed than before.

I stepped forward, out of the dress, and started to take off Bucky’s suit. The tie had come off at some point during the evening so with the jacket off, I could slowly start to undo his shirt. His breath was coming deep and hot as I slowly undid each button, running my fingernail down each new piece of exposed skin. When the last button was undone, I pushed the shirt off his shoulders and Bucky quickly pulled the sleeves over his wrists. I ran my fingernails back up and down his chest, noting how he bit his lips and closed his eyes. I leant forward and licked across one of his nipples, then gently teased it with my teeth as he moaned and pulled me in tighter. I felt his hand slip down from my back to grasp my buttocks, pulling me close and then, with his supersoldier strength, lifting me up. My legs wrapped around his waist and I could feel him, hard, against me through his trousers. His skin was hot against mine and the sensation was overwhelming.

Bucky carried me over to his bed and gently lay me down, then watching me for signs of anxiety, removed my underwear, leaving me naked and exposed. He stood back up and for a moment just looked at me. I felt my lip start to tremble with nerves under his gaze, until I looked at his face and realised what I was seeing. He was lost in the sight of me, his eyes dark, his tongue running over his lips. I whispered ‘hey, James?’ and his eyes snapped up to mine, a sheepish grin on his lips.

“You don’t know just how beautiful you are, sweetheart.”

I sat up and pulled myself forward to the end of the bed, near to him, and then keeping our eyes in contact, I reached forward and unbuttoned his trousers, slowly, then slid his trousers and boxers down, letting my hands run over the smooth skin on his thighs. Bucky shuddered and let his eyes fall close for a second, blinking them open in shock almost immediately at the feel of my lips on his stomach. He watched as I kissed my way down his stomach, then up his thighs, taunting him, and then with a groan kicked off his shoes and socks, shaking his trousers off and nearly falling over, until we were both naked, giggling, and wrapped in each other’s arms on the bed.

Bucky pulled himself over on top of me, pinning my arms down above my head and then running his fingers lightly down my side, smiling as I squirmed beneath him.

“Sweetheart. Baby. Darlin’” Each word was punctuated with a kiss, leaving me breathlessly following his mouth with mine. “I’m yours till the end of the line. So there’s no need to rush things. Whatever happens tonight, or doesn’t, it’s OK.” He kissed me again and I nodded.

“I meant what I said. I want you James”

At that, all restraint was gone. Bucky’s mouth was everywhere on me, kissing my lips, biting my neck, sucking its way down to my breasts, leaving me unable to think about anything except the way it felt. He slowed down as he moved further down my body and my hands gripped his hair with a sense of desperation as I tried to retain some control of myself. I could feel his metal fingers still circling and pinching my nipples as his warm mouth moved lower, biting my skin, sucking against my scars then blowing cool air across the warm dampness. The sensations were overwhelming and my hatred for my scars was transformed as Bucky lavished them with attention.

My small gasps turned to louder moans as Bucky pushed my legs apart and grazed his teeth up the inside of my thighs. My skin was on fire and I could feel my hips bucking as I wanted his lips on me. Months of pent-up emotions, of teasing kisses and cold showers, had left me desperate and I wanted it all, at once, but Bucky was taking things slowly, drawing out the pleasure and the pain.

He pushed my legs further apart, and as I felt his tongue on me, I called out his name, my head falling back. He moved back to kissing and biting my thigh, so near and yet so tantalisingly far from what I wanted, and I let out a desperate whimpering plea. The whimper turned into a gasp as he moved back to licking me, and I felt his fingers push inside me. He kept up the pace, licking and pushing, and I lost all track of time, my brain a fog of wine and pleasure. I could hear myself calling ‘oh James, oh fuck, oh god, Bucky’, over and over, faster and faster, my speed matching his. My hips were writhing on the bed and I was clutching handfuls of the sheet, now unable to form words and just letting out gasps of pleasure. I could feel a deep throbbing inside me, growing and growing as I rocked my hips up and down, then suddenly I was shaking, my legs spasming as I threw my head back and came.

The room was a blur as I opened my eyes, overloaded with pleasure. I whimpered as Bucky withdrew his fingers and then again, with pleasure, as I felt him kiss his way back up my body until he was lying on top of me, his full weight pinning me down. My body was still shivering with lust and I could feel Bucky’s hand shaking with desire as he ran his fingers up my throat. He’d been waiting just as long as I had for this and as I came down, I ran my fingers down his spine, and felt his muscles twitch with need. A low throaty growl worked its way out of his mouth as my hands reached his backside and pulled him against me tighter. My brain was working again and I was torn between desperately wanting all of Bucky and first-time nerves.

I could feel Bucky holding back, aware of what I was feeling, but I didn’t want him to pull away completely. I ran my hands back up to his head, tangled my fingers in his hair, and murmured ‘don’t stop’. He turned his head to kiss me and we clashed noses and teeth awkwardly, giggling helplessly, the fumbling and lack of success bringing us back together emotionally. I was more relaxed again and I wanted Bucky so much.

Bucky took hold of my head and turned my chin towards him, keeping our eyes in contact. Our bodies were rolling against each other and we were both breathing deep and ragged. I could tell Bucky was finding it hard to find words now.

“It’s OK to stop.” I knew if I said I needed to stop, Bucky wouldn’t hesitate and there’d be no recriminations. But that knowledge was more than enough to make me want him more. I bit down on his collar bone, making him yell, then licked my tongue across the mark.

“I still want you James. Please.”

He stretched out, reaching for something beside the bed and the movement brought his body further across mine. The extra weight, the feeling of being trapped, made me moan with pleasure, and I saw Bucky look back down towards me, smiling knowingly.

A rustle and some fumbling and I knew he’d put a condom on. My heart was racing with nerves and desire as Bucky moved both my arms above my head and held them down with his metal hand. He let his flesh hand slide down from my hands, all the way down my side, while I whimpered and wriggled beneath him, then he slid his hand back up to my throat and held it firmly. I was gasping with need now, and I could feel Bucky twitching against me. Our eyes locked on each other, I felt Bucky pushing inside me, agonisingly slowly. I could feel myself frown with the mixture of pain and delight, my eyes closing against my will then snapping open as I winced and gasped. He stopped instantly.

“You ok baby?”

I could feel him starting to withdraw, and wrapped my legs around him, digging my heels into him to hold him still.

“I’m OK, just need a second.” He held himself unmoving, watching me and waiting, as my breath relaxed and then I slowly started rolling my hips against him, opening myself up on him at my own pace, his mouth falling open and eyes glazing as he watched me from above. After a moment I nodded, and he started moving inside me, matching his gentle thrusts to mine. My breath was harder to catch as my nerves fired all over my body, my skin tingling matching the sharp pain inside, the pain never overwhelming the pleasure that was running through me.

I was moving faster now, and Bucky was matching my movements still. His head had dropped to his chest and he’d let my arms go, resting on his forearms beside my shoulders. I held onto his arms, using his body as a rock to push myself against, harder and faster now. Bucky’s eyes were closed and his forehead was glistening with sweat. He was making soft moans now, whimpering my name as he thrust. I lifted my head, needing to kiss him and his tongue was hot in my mouth but we were both too unco-ordinated to kiss for long now. Bucky’s breathing was getting ragged and his eyes were unfocussed but he tried to pull himself back as he saw me wincing again.

“What’s… you ok…?”

“Oh god… yes. Please”

With that word, he pushed against me harder and faster. My eyes screwed up tight as I saw stars and was overcome with the sheer physical exhilaration. I felt Bucky thrust inside me once, twice more, then with a harsh groan, he came, my legs wrapped around him still. We were both panting, sweat sticking our chests together, my hands gripping his arms. He collapsed onto me, planting sloppy exhausted kisses against my neck as I hummed with pleasure. He lifted his head to kiss me, smiling with ridiculous pleasure as he missed my mouth and caught my cheek, then rolling off me and out of me, falling onto his back beside me on the bed and pulling in deep breaths.

As his breath became steadier, he rolled onto his side, grabbing my hand and pulling it up to kiss each knuckle.

“Are you ok? Did I hurt you?”

I pulled our joined hands over to my mouth and tenderly bit his fingers, smirking against each one.

“I’m good. So good. Bit sore but good sore. So good.” I flopped back onto my back and he pulled himself nearer. “My muscles won’t move. I think I’m dead. I’m Ok with that”. I lifted one arm and let it flop to the mattress bonelessly. “See, dead.”

“You make a beautiful corpse,” Bucky grinned against my skin, then sighed. “One minute.”

He got up and headed for the bathroom, where I heard water running. He came back a moment later, condom gone and glass of water in hand. He took a mouthful and then held it for me to drink before falling back down next to me on his back. I rolled against him, and rested my head on his arm, tracing patterns on his chest with my fingers. I let myself relax into his arms, feeling beautifully drowsy and cared for. My eyes half-closed, I heard his voice.

“You know I said I liked you?” I looked up and met his eyes. “I love you, Ruby.”

I looked up and met his eyes. There would be days I wouldn’t believe him but he’d always be there to convince me.

“I love you too, Bucky.”

[inquisition-dragonborn]

History has recorded that the Dwemer disappeared under mysterious circumstances many millennia ago. They were a resourceful people possessing wonderous technology, knowledge, and wealth, but at the pinnacle of their mastery over their world, they vanished entirely. Or did they? This is the tale of the last Dwemer who awakens to find themselves in a far different world than they left. 

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandoms: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Elder Scrolls Online, Elder Scrolls Characters: Original Dwemer Character(s), Various Skyrim Characters, College of Winterhold

Ratings and warnings are subject to change.

My dreams are filled with the sibilant sound of escaping steam, the whir of flywheels, and the rhythmic clank of metal cogs stepping through the gears one lash at a time. The constant noises are comforting in their way, like a mother’s heartbeat, echoing through the darkness of the womb.

My nightmares are different. They are filled with the horror of artificial silence, hunger and desperation, and the acrid scent of sweaty fear. The nightmares seem both immediate and distant in my mind and I do not like to dwell upon them.

I don’t know if my eyes are open or closed; darkness envelopes me in a constant state with no relief. I am neither warm nor cold. I cannot feel my body, assuming that is, that I still have one. I’m not aware of the passage of time, a blessing and a curse that I will come to understand later.

“Carefully now. We do not know what dangers may await us.” A ball of light zoomed into the middle of the pitch-black room then hovered lazily, rising slowly toward the ceiling of the cavernous space. “We don’t need a repeat of yesterday.”

Status: Initializing…

“Understood, professor,” a male stated, nervously clearing their throat.

“Dwemer ruins are notorious riddled with traps. Wards at the ready. Phinis, a little bit more light, if you please.”

Six people, five humans and an Argonian, cautiously entered the room, their eyes darting from shadow to shadow, looking for dangers. A middle-aged man, balding and with a confident stride, came first, sending globes of light up into the air. The two younger human men, twin brothers and Nords by appearance, jostled each other as they came through the door. A Redguard woman walked cautiously next to the Argonian. An elderly looking man, grey hair and beard neatly trimmed despite the unkempt look of his robes, brought up the rear.

Several more globes of light shot into the room distributing themselves into a ring, illuminating the space with a pale blue light. Smooth stone walls gleamed with collected moisture and crystallized mineral deposits. Rays of light, weak and watery, filtered down through the fractured stone. Metal glinted in the wavering light, twinkling in and out of view as the balls of light shifted on the air currents created by steam that rose from the single piece of machinery still working.

“Remarkable, simply remarkable,” the elder stated, craning his head to look around. “These ruins are unlike any we’ve discovered previously. Carefully now.”

The room was circular in shape with only the single door they entered by. At the center of the room stood a narrow waist-high pedestal with two rows of buttons, a single button glowed with a green light. Fanning out from it by narrow metal conduits were a dozen larger tubes, circling the available space like markers on an incomplete sundial. Most tubes were dulled and broken, but one glowed like polished moonstone in the magelight.

“Never have we seen construction such as these. Remarkable.”

“Yes, Professor Tolfdir.” The younger members of the group looked at each other and rolled their eyes at the elder’s rambling. None of them had any real interest in being there but as the oldest apprentices at the college, they had the dubious honour of being farmed out for such research expeditions.

Above each tube, ominously familiar round metal hatches were pressed into the wall. They were not the usual dull gold of dwarven metal either but silver, pitted and tarnished black with age. Nonetheless, these were easily recognized by the explorers. Most were ajar and empty, their contents of sleek silver metallic spiders, lay broken and dormant on the crumbling stone floor. Several hatches remained closed despite the broken tubes, but from within one, a green gem began to glow. The gem slowly rotated within the gyroscope housing that served as the spider’s head to focus on the interlopers.

Status: Analyzing…

“Look!” one of the Nords, the nervous male, stated excitedly, “one of them is still working!” He hurried forward, tripped over one of the conduits and froze at the ominous clacking of metal on metal.

When nothing further happened, everyone gave a slow sigh of relief.

“Apprentice Rundi! Would you please restrain yourself… by the door!” The professor’s voice had slipped from its normal calm tone to something much sharper and impatient.

“Yes, professor. I’m sorry, professor.” He carefully walked back past the group, slouching his head and shoulders forward with shame. His brother shoved his shoulder as he passed, making him stagger slightly.

“Borvir! This is neither the time nor the place for roughhousing of that nature.”

“Sorry, professor.”

“Now, where were we—?” Tolfdir muttered to himself, sounding bemused, before his eyes lit up with renewed focus. “Ah, yes. It is truly remarkable to see equipment of this age still functional! You can see that even here, the walls and floor have fractured with the upheaval of the mountain at some time during the past; however, the ingenuity and redundancy of the Dwemer design has allowed the machinery to continue to function despite damages.”

“What do they do exactly?” The Redguard, Yisra, asked, cocking her head to the side as she carefully studied the steam outlet on the single working tube.

“We have no idea.” The students stopped in their tracks and turned back to look at him with an assortment of incredulous and confused looks on their faces. “We have only recently discovered two of these ruins and they significantly pre-date the oldest known ruins of Nchuand-Zel, Alftand, or Bthardamz. Those ruins do not contain these circular vaults. They are an intriguing curiosity. Perhaps it would be best to have Calcelmo join us before we proceed further.” He turned around and looked startled to find a student at the door. “Oh! Borvir…”

“Yes, professor?” Borvir replied, standing next to him.

“Oh!” Tolfdir blinked repeatedly, then realized he had confused the twins. “No, no. Rundi—please fetch Master Calcelmo from the other chamber. Tell him we have a working example.”

While they waited, the students carefully examined the silent tubes and compared them to the single working one. The tubes, slightly longer than the average Altmer and wider than a Nord, were oval in shape instead of the expected round. The surface was slightly warm to the touch, slick as polished marble in some places, pitted and rough in others with the accumulation of minerals similar to the deposits on the surrounding walls. Pairs of pipes entered and exited either end, with gauges marked with illegible figures. Only the gauges on the functional tube flickered to suggest some unknown activity within.

“This tube is open,” Borvir said sticking his fingers under the edge of what looked like a lid and lifted. A loud creak of hinges made everyone freeze in their tracks.

Status: threat assessment pending...

The gem turned yellow and its legs flexed for the first time in millennia, the joints popping with a soft hiss of steam.

The tube was empty except from some sort of mineral deposit fused to the inside bottom of the surface that he scratched at with his fingernails. “What do you suppose was in them?”

“It’s hard to say. They could have been storage tanks for fuel or food. Perhaps fermentation…”

Borvir threw his hands up into the air as his brother returned with the Altmer mage, Calcelmo. “Dwemer mead!”

Phinis shook his head and rubbed at his temples in frustration at his students’ behaviour. He wasn’t the only one as their fellow student, Yisra curled her lip in disgust. “You and your stupid mead. One day you’ll freeze to death toasting to your own stupidity.”

“Now, now… Master Calcelmo. The students have found a working example of the Dwemer devices.”

“So your student said Master Tolfdir, although I very much doubt that,” Calcelmo said as he strode into the room, shooing the students out of the way as he entered, “but I suppose I can see what you have found. Ah!” He walked around the tube that continued to emit a jet of steam with perfect mechanical timing. He walked around the adjacent tube that had been pulled open. “Fascinating. There is no outward sign of hinges or latches, and yet they can be opened. But how? There must be some mechanism—”

“What about this?” Rundi asked, running his finger over the green light on the pedestal.

“Do not push—” Phinis called as the button depressed under Rundi’s finger.

Status: unauthorized input...awaiting bypass command...

The gem started to pulse.

The room fell abruptly silent as the methodic rhythm of the device’s gears ground to a halt and the vent of steam tapered off with a waning hiss.

“How many times must you be told—"

“Of all the stupid—"

Status: eliminate threat...

The gem turned red as the weapons system activated.

A loud chime rang startling them all into silence. They had never heard such a thing before in a Dwemer ruin. It nearly drowned out the swish of the remaining hatches on the walls, opening and spilling out their mechanical eight-legged guardians.

The spiders rapidly climbed over their fallen brethren, their metal legs tapping sharply on the stone floors as they advanced. Lightning arced through the air sizzling across hastily erected barriers.

Spikes of ice exploded against the spiders sending them tumbling across the floor only to right themselves with acrobatic leaps before charging back at the mages, razor-sharp edges slashing against fabric and flesh.

“Ice doesn’t work!” Rundi screamed, tripping over his own feet as he retreated.

“Then use fire, ice-brain,” Yisri barked, blasting the spider advancing on the scrambling Nord with a fireball. The spider flipping onto its back, legs kicking, then burst apart in a shower of sparks.

“Don’t panic. Work together now,” Phinis called out as he brought his conjured sword down onto a spider.

“Remember your wards, apprentices!” Tolfdir reminded them, his own glowing blue ward crackled but held firm against a bolt of lightning.

The spiders were vastly outnumbered and quickly overpowered by the mages. The final spider staggered upright again on its remaining five legs, two of which dragged on the floor from broken joints. It snapped its single functional scissor-like front legs aggressively at the intruders before being slammed back against the wall with a glancing ball of fire.

The spider’s inner workings hissed and spun in a mindless effort to fulfill its directive. The gem pulsed with red light, weaker than before.

Status: critical failure…

It burst apart in a shower of sparks and scattered legs to collapse in a silent heap.

The mages panted with exertion, sucking in gasps of ozone scorched air, all the while glaring daggers at a now-sheepish Rundi. “Sorry.”

“And that, young man, is why we do not go pushing buttons with abandon like a skooma-raddled khaj—”

A loud crack echoed off the stones abruptly ending Calcelmo’s tirade. Wards and destruction spells bloomed as they all rapidly scanned the room for new threats. Their hands slowly lowered as nothing came at them. Indeed, even the alarm bell had fallen silent.

“Oh, it’s leaking!” Yisra exclaimed, jumping back from the previously functioning device as a gold-coloured, viscous fluid started to pour out of the tube and splashed onto her shoes. The device had become hinged like its counterparts and was rapidly losing its contents.

“Quickly now,” Calcelmo darted forward with surprising agility, holding out a flask pulled from the inner folds of his voluminous robes, “get a sample before it all runs away.”

“Ew!” she protested even as she held the glass under the slowing flow of liquid. She held her hand up and rubbed her fingers together. It felt creamy, not greasy or sticky as she had expected. She wrinkled her nose; it was still disgusting. She wiped her fingers on Borvir’s shirt.

“Hey!”

“Well, I think there is no longer any harm in opening this the rest of the way, do you?” Tolfdir asked Calcelmo.

“No. I think what’s done is done. Let’s take a look inside.”

The lid opened smoothly after some initial resistance and more fluid spilled out to reveal the contents.

“Xarxes Backside!” Calcelmo exclaimed in an uncharacteristic display of shock.

“Is that—is that—”

They stared in stunned amazement at what appeared to be a female body, coated in the remnants of the golden liquid, lying in repose at the heart of the tube.

“A Dwemer,” Calcelmo said in awe upon finally collecting himself. “This is the find of a lifetime. All my research, my work as the pre-eminent scholar—”

The body jerked once, then again; gold fluid started to bubble at the mouth.

“It’s alive!”

“Nonsense. That’s not possible.”

Phinis gestured with his hands and each one of them in the room glowed with a red light in reaction to the life detection spell he had cast. And so, too, did the body before them.

“It’s not possible. To be alive after having slept for seven thousand years—”

The body jerked again, less violently, with another bubble of fluid rising from the mouth to burst and spill over the cheeks. The lingering red glow of the spell began to flicker.

“If we don’t do something quickly,” Phinis barked at them, “it’s not going to live for very long. It’s drowning!”

Ilas-Tei, the Argonian, jumped forward, “turn it on its side to drain the lungs. Dryskins are always drowning.”

“Yes, carefully now,” Tolfdir directed them.

“It’s softer than I expected,” Borvir said, his hands were wrapped over the hip and thigh.

“What did you expect? Metal?” Yisra asked, wrinkling her nose at the draining fluid as she held the head steady.

“Well yeah,” he said with a shrug. “Dwemer made things out of metal.”

“They made things out of metal, but they weren’t constructed of metal themselves, you frost-brain.”

“Apprentices! There that should do it. Carefully now, onto the back.” Tolfdir stood up and looked to Calcelmo. “Now what should we do?”

He waved his hand at the now breathing body. “I study ruins. I don’t know anything about caring for—” he waved his hand again, “bodies, persons. You look after it. You have healers, restoration experts at the college. If it survives, I’ll have questions. Until then, it's your responsibility,” he added as he strode out of the room.

Tolfdir scratched at his beard thoughtfully. “Well then. Suggestions?”

[foreverwayward]

“Wayward Hearts” Season 3 Chapter 11: Time is On My Side

Summary: After the Devil’s Gate had been opened that fateful night in the graveyard, the hunters are forced to face a new war. Countless demons now run rampant, hungry for blood and power. It’ll take everything the three have to survive when darkness once again knocks on their door. But, with only a year before Dean’s deal comes due, Sam and Riley will stop at nothing to save him; to save their family.

Masterlist

Word Count: 7415

Content Warning: language and violence

DISCLAIMER: any words or phrases in bold in the story are not my own and are credited to the writers of Supernatural.

**GIFS ARE NOT MY OWN**

In an abandoned cabin, hidden away from the world, the fireplace roared. Its light danced across the walls and was the only illumination in the room, keeping the darkness outside at bay.

Screams of suffering went unheard as a demon cried out in agony. The possessed man was strapped to a chair in the center of a devil’s trap as holy water was thrown into his face. His flesh sizzled and steam seeped from the vessel’s skin and faded into the air.

Sam, Dean, and Riley stood in front of him unmoved. The hunters were going to get answers with the clock running out for Dean. As they had run out of ideas, they interrogated a lower level demon.

“You ready to talk?” Dean shouted into the creature’s burning face.

“I don't fucking know!” It thrashed against its restraints. “I don't know anything!”

With a mocking expression, he turned to his partners. “Oh, you hear that, guys? He doesn't know anything.”

Sam smirked as he replied, “yeah, I heard.”

“I'm telling you the truth!” it cried.

With a wry laugh and condescending smile, Riley took large strides to have herself eye to eye with the demon. “You guys,” she feigned. “He says he’s telling the truth. I guess we owe him an apology.”

“You’re so right, Rye.” Dean grabbed the monster’s face and forced holy water into its mouth before it garbled a deafening cry, “I'm gonna ask you one last time...who holds my fucking contract?!”

The demon went quiet, his head hanging in defeat. When he looked up, his eyes were an evil black as he smiled at the three. “Your mother. Yeah, she, uh--showed it to me right before I bent her over and fucked her ‘til she screamed.”

Riley took a step back as Dean moved into her spot and leaned in. “I want a name. Or else…”

“Or what? You're gonna squirt your holy water in both ends? Please. Brother, that's like a flea bite compared to what's coming to me if I tell you jack. Do what you want, the only thing I'm scared of is the demon holding your ticket.”

With a nod from Dean, Sam began to recite an exorcism. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundusspiritus, omnis satanicapotestas, omnis incursioinfernalisadversarii…”

“Go ahead, send me back to Hell. 'Cause when you get there, I'll be waiting for you...with a few pals who are dying for a nice little meet and greet with Dean Winchester.” The demon grew a sinister grin on his face and laughed.

“Should I?” Sam asked as he paused the ritual.

Listening intently to whatever might still remain inside the vessel, Riley sighed. “The guy he’s got locked in there didn’t make it. Get this evil son of a bitch out of here.”

“Okay,” Dean agreed. “Sam, send him someplace he can't hurt anyone else.”

“...omnis legio, omnis congregatio et sectadiabolica.” As Sam continued, the unholy shrieks of pain ripped from the demon, echoing into the night and going completely unheard.

------

Sam sat alone in the cabin’s main room as he made several phone calls. He was just like his brother, whenever he had sniffed out a possible case, Sam was like a dog with a bone.

Dirty and sweating, Dean came in as he wiped his brow and huffed in exhaustion.

As the younger brother ended his call, he sat down on a chair close behind him. “Bury the body?”

“Yeah. Looks like these demons ride 'em hard just for kicks these days.” Dean grabbed a beer from their cooler and popped it open. Taking a large swig, he crashed tiredly onto a beat-up couch.

The front door closed and Riley walked in with bags of takeout. She tossed the Impala’s keys over to Dean as she went to a nearby tabletop with their spoils. “Who’s hungry?”

“Oh, I’m fuckin’ starving. Waddya got?” Dean asked. Riley pulled out a wrapped burger from the bags and smirked as he grew excited. “If I haven’t told you yet today, I love you.” 

Riley tossed the warm food to Dean he quickly unwrapped it. He moaned happily as he took a large bite.

Sam chuckled. “Should we leave you and your cheeseburger alone?”

“Hey, I think I could show this burger a good time.” Filling his mouth again, Dean watched Riley as she grabbed her own beer. She had found a large and worn cushion tossed to the side and sat cross-legged as she readied to eat her own meal. “What? You too good to sit next to me now?” he teased.

“Mm-mm,” Riley started with a mouthful. “You just kinda fucking stink right now.”

He paused dramatically. “That hurts my feelings.”

“Well, you’re hurting my nose.” She laughed to herself and took another bite. “So, what’d I miss?”

“Uh…” As Sam leaned back into his chair, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. “Not much. I was just about to tell Dean I think I found us a case.”

Riley appeared taken aback. “A case? Sam, we’re already on a case.”

“What? Whose?”

“Uh--Dean’s,” she answered incredulously. “We’re down to three weeks, Sam--three weeks.”

“Well, do you have a lead on Richard, or the Colt, or anything that can help us?”

She tensed as she downed more of the cold drink. Riley’s head fell as the bottle sat between her two hands, fiddling with it. “You know I don’t.”

Dean had remained silent as the two talked and he knew Riley was right. Time was not a luxury they had, but Sam wasn’t wrong. With nothing to go on, the hunters were left with countless questions and no answers.

As Dean’s phone rang, he dug into his pocket to pull it out. He looked at the caller ID before flipping it open. “Bobby.” Dean put the call on speaker and held it out for everyone to hear.

“Hey,” their old friend replied. “Think I finally got a lead on Richard.”

“I'm listening.”

“Rufus Turner.”

Sam, Dean, and Riley shrugged at each other not knowing the name. “Who's that? Like a Cleveland steamer?”

“He's a hunter, or he used to be. He’s practically a hermit now--does a little selling on the side. Anyway, I put the word out on Richard months ago. Rufus just called, said a guy got in touch, wanted to buy some things.”

“And he thinks it's Dick?”

“Stuffy British accent went by the name Charles Gardner.”

“He’s used that before. Well, it's kind of a sloppy move, isn't it--getting in contact with one of your old friends?”

“Friend? Haven't laid eyes on him in fifteen damn years. He's not the Christmas card type. I doubt he knows I know him. Canaan, Vermont.”

Riley called out from across the room. “You’re the best, Bobby!”

“One other thing. Take a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue.”

Slightly confused, Dean answered, “okay.” He hung up his phone and turned to the others. 

“Come on. We’re going Dick hunting.” Dean stopped, almost appalled by what he had said. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”

“It’s for the best,” Riley retorted with a look of disgust as she got up to gather her things.

“What?” Sam appeared perplexed and his brow scrunched. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on a second.”

Dean grabbed his bag and turned down the fire that was still ablaze. “Come on. Get your stuff. The clock's ticking.”

“Look, I think we should check out the lead I have on this other case.”

“You insane?” Dean snarked as he turned back to his brother.

“Dean, there's no way he still has the Colt! That was months ago! He probably sold it the second he got it.”

“Well, then I'll kill the bastard. Win-win.”

As Riley threw their bag over her shoulder, she shrugged carelessly. “All in all, wouldn’t be a wasted trip.”

Sam sighed in exasperation. “Dean…”

“Sam,” his brother barked. “We're going!”

“No!”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because I may have found a way to save you!”

Dean’s eyes widened and his voice softened as Riley spun to look at Sam as well. “What? What are you talking about?”

“This case? I’m pretty sure it’s from Doc Benton...real-life doctor, lived in New Hampshire in the nineteenth century--brilliant and obsessed with alchemy, especially how to live forever. So, in 1816, Doc abandons his practice and…”

Riley stared back at him, puzzled. “Sam, what the hell are you talking about?”

“...and nobody hears from him for like 20 years, and all of sudden, people start showing up dead--or missing an organ, or a hand, or some other kind of part. The legend is that whatever he did to himself was actually working to keep him alive.”

“Wait, a minute…” Dean started. “Why does this sound familiar?”

“Because you heard about it when we were kids. Dad hunted this guy down and cut out his heart. Apparently, that didn’t quite do it. But, Dean, this--this is what's gonna save you.” There was nothing disingenuous about Sam’s plan. He truly believed that following the case would finally lead them to answers.

Dean’s brow hooked and he shared a look of disbelief. “What? Chasing some Frankenstein?”

“Chasing immortality.” Sam’s words had both of his partners staring back at him, startled at the idea. “Look, Benton can't die. We find out how he did it, we can do it to you. I mean, you have to die before you go to Hell, right? So, if you can never die, then…”

“Sam, stop!” Dean shouted angrily and the room went still. “You’re not helping! You forget that if I try to welch out on this deal, Riley dies. Guess what? Living forever--is welching.”

“Fine! Then, whatever the magic pill is, we’ll take it too!”

Riley could feel Sam’s sincerity and she leaned her face into her hand as she rubbed her temples. “Look, Sam...I know you wanna save Dean just as much as I do. But I think Bobby’s right. If we hunt down the demon that has Dean’s one-way ticket, then maybe we can stop it. I really think it’s gonna be our best shot.”

“Say you find the Colt, then what? None of us even know who holds the contract.”

Raising his voice again as he felt his frustration grow, Dean bit back at him. “Well, I'll shoot the goddamn hellhounds then before they slash me up. Now, you coming or not?””

“I'm staying here,” Sam said quietly, certain of his decision.

“No, you're not. 'Cause I'm not gonna let you wander out alone to find some organ-stealing freak.”

“You're not gonna let me? How are you gonna stop me?” As Sam went on, Dean appeared taken back again. “Look, man, we're trying to do the same thing here.”

“I know, but I'm going. So, if you wanna stay...stay.” Dean shook his head when Sam didn’t answer. He shrugged and took the duffel from Riley before hanging it on his shoulder. 

“Come on,” he told her as they both went for the door. Sam didn’t move but they both hesitated before turning back to him. “Sammy, be careful.”

“You too.” He and Dean stared at each other for a long moment before Dean reached out for the doorknob and walked outside.

Riley’s eyes still sat on her brother lovingly. “I know you wanna save him, Sammy. You do what you think is right.”

As Riley left, closing the door behind her, Sam let out a long and drug out sigh.

------

After driving through the night, the Chevy rolled to a stop in front of an older home on a quiet suburban street. Its colors were tacky with a mix of dark red and light green. Angled tall steps led up to an elevated porch with massive weeds lined around it.

Riley and Dean shut their doors behind them as they headed up the walkway. As they reached the porch, they saw a handwritten sign that read: ‘No solicitors. That means you! No asking for directions. No selling ANYTHING!’

Under her breath, Riley muttered, “well, Rufus just sounds like a breath of fresh air.”

Dean chuckled as he rang the buzzer and banged on the metal security door. The hunters both turned to a sound and looked up to see a camera moving to focus in on them.

“What?” a harsh voice barked over the intercom.

Dean cleared his throat. “Hi, uh--Rufus?”

“Yeah...even if I am, the question is still the same. What?”

“Uh--I'm Dean Winchester. We’re friends of Bobby Singer's.”

“So?”

Riley shrugged as the two shared a look. “Hi, Rufus. I’m, uh--Riley Munroe. Listen, we heard from Bobby that the guy we’re looking for made contact with you. He’s British…”

“And so?”

“So...do you know where he is?”

“Yeah.”

“Awesome. Would you please tell us where we can find him?”

“No.”

“’Course not,” Dean muttered under his breath. “Look, Rufus, man…”

The two doors quickly flung open as an irritated man stood in the doorway. He was roughly Bobby’s age with dark skin, a full mustache, and short hair. 

With the cereal bowl he was still working on in his hand, he studied the couple. “Look, let me point something out to you. You are knocking at my goddamn door, so don't ‘look, man’ me. I'm not your man.”

Realizing he may have stepped in it, Dean apologized with a nervous smile. “I'm sorry, sir.”

“Alright, let me tell you a little story. See, once upon a time, Bobby called me--asked me to call him if I got a whiff of this Richard Lewis. I got a whiff, I called, the end.”

“Okay, yeah, if you could just tell me where he is, I mean, that would be great.”

Rufus stopped as he stared back at the young hunter. “Dean Winchester, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Dean, do I look like I'm here to help you?”

“I'm gonna say...no?”

“Then get the fuck off my property.”

Riley tried to regain the man’s attention as he began to head back inside. “Listen, that’s totally fair. But, uh--” she reached into the bag on Dean’s shoulder and pulled out a tall box with the Johnny Walker label. “We have this scotch, and, uh--we weren’t sure if it was any good.”

As Rufus eyed the bottle of his favorite scotch, he looked back at the couple and smiled with a nod of approval.

------

Inside Rufus’ home, the three sat at his collapsible card table as they each nursed a glass of Johnny Walker. The bottle was already nearly empty as they finished pouring another round.

“Bottoms up,” Dean said gruffly as they all clinked their glasses together with a soft chuckle from Rufus.

“You know, I don't even bother drinking unless it's this stuff. Nectar of the Gods, I'm telling you.”

“Mm…” Riley started as she seethed through her next sip. “I’m enjoying the change. Most of Dean’s whiskey tends to come in the form of a plastic jug.” As she shot him a look, the three hunters laughed. “Alright, so back to business. Richard was here…”

“He wanted to buy a couple of things, which is gonna take me some time to round up.”

Anxious for answers, Dean jumped into the conversation. “Where is he now?”

Rufus watched Dean closely for a moment and Riley could feel his skepticism. “You got three weeks left. Why are you wasting your time chasing after that English asshat in a suit?”

Now suspicious of Rufus, the couple shared a glance. “How do you know about that?”

“Because I know things.” The older man leaned in intensely. “I know a lot of things about a lot of people. And I know ain't no goddamn peashooter gonna save you.”

Riley and Dean grew more anxious as they continued to drink, desperate to calm their nerves. “What makes you so sure?” Dean questioned coolly.

“‘Cause that's the job, kid. Even if you manage to scrape out of this one, there's just gonna be something else down the road. Folks like us...there ain't no happy ending. We all got it coming.”

“Well, ain't you a bucket of sunshine?”

The room went quiet and Riley couldn’t contain the hold her abilities had on her. Her constant state of anxiety had made it nearly impossible to control her gifts and the thoughts of others had her feeling like she was drowning.

Knowing she needed a minute to calm down, Riley tossed back the last of her drink. “Rufus, you mind if I, uh--use your bathroom?”

Without a word, he motioned toward the hallway as if telling her to find her own way. Riley nodded gratefully and walked away trying to contain her urge to cry.

Rufus and Dean refocused on each other and the older hunter shook his head softly. “It was a mistake getting so close to someone the way you are with her.”

Dean thought to himself as the corner of his lip barely curled up in a gentle smile. “Nothing with Riley has been a mistake, that much I can tell you.”

“Even selling your soul for her?”

“...I’d have given more to get her back if I had to.”

With a scoff and chortle of disbelief, Rufus poured more scotch into his glass. “Love has got you by the balls, boy. It’s gonna end up costing you everything.”

“Well,” Dean replied as he swirled the liquid in his hand. “Some things are worth everything.”

“It’ll never work out with her. I'm what you've got to look forward to if you survive.” Rufus smirked as he raised his glass to Dean once more. “But you won't.”

Riley’s back leaned into the wall as she listened in. Her eyes were shut and a tear freed itself to run down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away and straightened herself up before walking back in to join the others. 

As she sat down, Riley ran a hand through her hair and exhaled a hard breath. “So, Richard…”

Clearly quite drunk, Rufus began to slur his words; his eyes looked heavy and tired. “Hotel Canaan. Room 39. But watch your back.”

“I’m not worried about it. We can handle Richard.”

“Oh, don't be so sure about that. There are things that you don't know about him.”

“And I’m assuming that’s because you ‘know things’.”

With a look of superiority, Rufus took another sip. “Yep.” Riley and Dean waited as the older hunter took his time and drug on. “Lifted his prints, he burnt them off. Probably years ago.”

Dean nodded, not surprised with what Rufus had told them. “Yeah, so you're right where we are.”

“Nope.” Again, he stopped the pace of the conversation and waited before going on. “You do his ear?”

“...Sorry?” Dean asked, wondering if he had heard him correctly.

“You do his ear?”

“Hey, man, I'll try anything once, but I don't know. That sounds uncomfortable. I mean, to be honest, he’s not really my type either.”

“Ears are as unique to humans as fingerprints.”

“No kidding.”

“Of course, that don't fly in the courts over here, but in England, they're all over it. A friend of a friend...of a friend, faxed me ten pages of confidential files within a day. All I had to send him was one clean shot off the security camera.” Rufus stood from his seat and walked across the room to his cluttered desk. He grabbed a thick folder stuffed with paperwork and handed it to Dean. “The so-called Richard Lewis.”

------

Crickets chirped loudly through the woods as Sam pushed open an old and squeaky door to a lost cabin in the Pennsylvania forest. 

Armed with his flashlight and desperate for answers, the large hunter stepped inside. He closed the door behind him and peered around the main room. Dust filled the air and danced in front of his light. It smelled of dampness and worn wood; curtains torn to shreds still barely clutching to the windows.

Sam walked through the room examining everything that caught his eye. He flipped through pages of antique books he found lying around and crouched to rifle through the small drawers of a desk. When he found nothing, he stood back up only to notice a leather journal with a strange symbol carved into the front. 

Knowing he needed to be in and out as quickly as possible, Sam tucked the book into his jacket and moved on.

A large door sat prominently in the middle of the floor. Sam gripped the metal handle and lifted it open as its rusted hinges screeched. Steep steps disappeared into the darkness below him and they creaked under the hunter’s weight as he slowly descended into the cellar.

Cobwebs hung from anything they could cling to and twinkled in the beam of the flashlight. It then bounced off what appeared to be a work station of sorts. Glass bottles, assorted tools, and other odds and ends for Sam thought to be for dissection lined the wooden countertops. Shelves were stuffed to the brim with medical antiquity jars filled with disgusting fluids and papers strung about the walls.

As Sam worked through the dark room, his light landed on a man’s body lying on an old operating table. He moved closer and reached out a hand to check the stranger’s pulse only to feel the cold touch of the man’s skin. How long he had been dead was unclear, but his body was clearly opened and sewn back together before it was crudely covered in a blood-stained sheet.

The sound of gentle tapping caught Sam’s attention and he turned in its direction. It was coming from behind tattered curtains tucked away in the back. He eased his way closer trying to remain as quiet as possible to get a closer look.

Once inside, he found a woman strapped to another operating table. She was a young and beautiful brunette in a white top and blue jeans. Her arms had been stretched out beside her where pieces of skin had been removed. A collection of maggots crawled across the open wounds as the girl remained unconscious.

As Sam leaned in to place his fingers on the pulse point of her neck, the woman gasped and her eyes sprung open. 

Violently startled by the girl’s immediate awakening, Sam jumped.

The desperate and terrified woman whimpered and cried as she came to, shaking and fighting against her restraints.

“Shh! Shh! Shh!” Sam repeated softly as he tried to comfort her. “It's okay. I'm here to help you. I'm here to help you. I'm gonna help you.” 

With a swift glance around him, the hunter found a large sheet and began to wrap the destroyed flesh on her arms. She sobbed as his touch reminded her of the blinding pain. 

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” He continued to shush her as he gingerly tended to her wounds.

The sound of a creaking door opening echoed through the house and the woman’s heart began to race out of control. She tried with all she had to stay silent only for her fear took over as she mewled soft but high pitched squeals.

With no other option, Sam covered the girl’s mouth. 

As they looked up, a shadow blocked the light out as shoes stomped across the wooden boards. Dust fell at their movement and fluttered down onto them. Sam kept his hand in place to silence the weeping woman while his free hand moved swiftly to free her.

A small window of the cellar caught Sam’s eye and he carried the wounded woman to the wall before lifting her up and out. He softly grunted as he scrambled up behind her and picked her up into his arms once again. 

Sam rushed through the woods back to his rental car as the trembling girl clung around his neck.

Once at the car, he placed her in the passenger seat as she groaned in pain. Sam ran around to the driver’s set and pulled the door closed behind him in a hurry.

As he turned the ignition, the car sprung to life. But before he could shift into gear, the glass beside him shattered as the cold hand of Doc Benton reached out for him. 

The girl began to scream and backed herself into her side of the car as she shook.

The doctor looked like something out of an old horror movie. His complexion was practically grey with hair that gave the same hue. There were stitches across his face where pieces of skin had been strung together to recreate his face; wrinkles of the dead tissue were prominently indented. The trail of sutures traveled down his neck and underneath his 19th century tattered clothing. His eyes were dead, with one nearly completely white with an expressionless appearance. Doc Benton was a perfect blend of Dr. Frankenstein and his monster.

Benton took hold of Sam’s head and his fingers laced into his hair before slamming him against the wheel multiple times. 

As he fought off the decrepit man, Sam wildly shifted into reverse and slammed on the gas pedal. The car roared backward as the doctor tried to hold on before he was flipped onto the hood of the car. He rolled off and hit the dirt ground with Sam’s headlights fixated on him.

Once he doctor began to pull himself up, Sam stared him down as he met Benton’s dead eyes. He threw the car into drive with his teeth gritted and rammed into the creature. 

The doc was pulled underneath the small SUV and was crushed by the weight of the wheels. His body made an audible crunching sound as the vehicle bumped over him before Sam sped away with the rescued woman down the dirt road.

Unmoved by the events, Doc Benton stood to his feet once again. His neck was snapped, his head hanging at an obscene angle. 

The doctor watched the car disappear into the night as he effortlessly snapped his spine back into place.

------

The hotel door opened to a dark room with the hall light barely able to illuminate inside. Richard stepped in as he closed it behind him and pocketed his keys.

Before he was able to turn around, he was charged at from the darkness and pinned to the wall. There stood a wrathful Dean Winchester with his arm against his throat, his gun pointed at Richard’s face.

“Where's the Colt?” Dean snarled.

Trying to appear calm even as he was threatened, Lewis calmly replied, “Dean. Good to see you, old friend.”

“No extra words.”

“It's long gone, across the world by now.”

“You're lying.” Grabbing the briefcase in Richard’s hand, Dean tossed it onto the bed.

“I'll call the buyer. Speak Farsi?” 

From the shadows, Riley sauntered toward the two with her gun aimed and ready. 

“Riley, so good to see you.” As Lewis’ words were spoken, Dean leaned his weight into his throat, causing him to choke ever so slightly.

“Dean…” When he looked over to her, Riley nodded for him to step away. She walked to Richard still standing at the wall as he rubbed the tender muscles at his neck. Her eyes met his and she grabbed his jacket pulling him close.

Richard chuckled under his breath with a look of excitement. “Ooh, there’s the firecracker I remember…”

Quickly frisking him to check for a weapon, Riley took hold of the gun she had found on his waist and held it up. 

“Don’t fuckin’ flatter yourself.” She reached across him and flicked on the lights as Dean went to search the briefcase. “Don’t...move…” Riley seethed as she backed away to aid her boyfriend, leaving Richard standing against the wall.

“I told you I don't have it.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean snarked. “I'm definitely gonna take your word for it.” He turned his back and dumped the contents of the case onto the bed coming up empty-handed. 

Riley rifled through the drawers as Richard slid along the wall toward the door. 

As he turned to his partner, Dean scratched his nose signaling for Riley to listen. “This shitbag telling the truth?”

All she could do was shrug before speaking back to him telepathically. “I can’t tell. I can’t get in his head. He’s scared as hell, I can tell you that much.”

“Good. He fuckin’ should be.” 

When Richard tried to inch away, a gunshot was fired and Lewis grunted at the shock of the bullet missing his head by inches, going clear through the door. He froze and looked back at Dean who stood with his gun still aimed. The hunter was serious with his threats and Richard knew it. 

“Don't fuckin’ move.”

Lewis’ breath had quickened and his brow creased with anger. “It's gone. Get on a plane if you must. Track down the buyer--you might catch up to him eventually.” 

While Riley bounced her attention back and forth between Richard and her search for the Colt, she watched as Dean marched toward him aggressively. Once in front of Lewis, Dean pointed his weapon to his rival’s forehead and his face twitched with wrath. 

Twitching a little with nerves, Richard asked, “Are you going to kill me?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean answered with a coy smile.

“You're not the cold-blooded type.”

“You mean like you? That's true. See, I couldn't imagine killing my parents.”

Flabbergasted, but attempting to regather himself, Richard kept his face deadpanned. “I don't know what you're talking--”

“Yes, you do,” Dean interrupted firmly. “You were, what, 17? Folks died in some shady car accident. Police suspected a slashed brake line, but it was all too crispy to tell. Cut to little Richard--oh, I'm sorry, David...inheriting millions.”

Riley looked Richard in the eyes, seeing how taken back he was. “That’s your real name, isn’t it? David?”

With a sigh of defeat, Richard conceded. “How did you even…”

“Doesn’t really matter, does it?” 

Grabbing Richard’s hand in an attempt to connect and read his thoughts, Riley was suddenly met with flashes of memories. It was like watching a movie in fast-forward. She saw moments in time of Richard’s childhood and the unending bruises, cuts, and broken bones through the years. 

One moment in particular slowed down as a teenage Lewis laid helpless on the floor, crying and shaking after taking a terrible beating. His father’s footsteps retreated out of the room leaving Richard alone in agony.

As Riley released her hold on him, she was thrust back into the present and blinked rapidly trying to regain her composure. Richard glared at her skeptically, unsure of what had just happened. “They hurt you, didn’t they?”

“What?”

“You made a deal to be free of them--to be free of what you’d been put through your entire life.” 

The emotions in Richard shifted and Riley could feel it all. His hard swallow of pain rang through her no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

With a tone Riley had never heard before, Richard’s voice went softer. “You don’t know anything about it. They were lovely people, and I killed them--and I got rich. I can't be bothered to give a damn. Just like I don't care what happens to your Neanderthal boyfriend.”

Again, Dean pushed him roughly against the door with his arm shoved into his throat as the hunter’s jaw clenched. He stared Lewis down for a long and tense minute before growling, “you make me fuckin’ sick.”

“Likewise, Winchester.”

Dean took a step back and held up his gun with a smirk. There was no doubt that Dean wanted the man dead and Richard closed his eyes as he braced for the gunshot.

“Dean…” Riley whispered into his mind. She looked up above the door and his eyes followed hers. A strand of woven herbs was dislodged from the ledge above the door.

Taking a moment to think, Dean stared him down. When nothing happened, Richard opened his eyes and Dean dropped his pistol to his side. 

“You're not worth it.” The Winchester grabbed Lewis’ arm and shoved him off to the side before opening the door and leaving.

Riley stopped and her focus went back to Richard. “I’m sorry about what happened to you.” Her eyes welled and her jaw ticked in anger. “But I’ll never forgive you for what your selfishness is about to cost me. Goodbye, Richard.”

As she too disappeared and shut the door behind her, Lewis lifted his hand that had a scrap of paper that he uncrumpled to look at. It was a motel receipt for ‘The Erie’ that he had pick-pocketed from Dean, showing its address and the number of the room rented.

Reaching into his pocket, Richard took out his phone and quickly began to dial. When someone on the other line answered, he told them, “it worked. They found me. No, Sam wasn't with them. But I know where they are.”

------

Baby roared down the highway through the night as Riley made a call while Dean drove on. She put it on speakerphone as the line rang before Sam picked up.

“Riley, you guys get the Colt?”

“What do you think?” Dean asked, utterly frustrated.

“So, does that mean Richard is, uh…”

“No, no--he deserves to die a dozen times over, but I couldn't do it.” Looking over to Riley, Dean was hit with a wave of realization that while still without the Colt, they had no chance of saving him. 

As his glance went between the road and the woman beside him, Dean nodded as he clenched his lips. “I’m really screwed, guys.”

Riley sighed. “Dean, don’t talk like that.”

“Sam, you were right. Dick was a goose chase. The Colt’s gone, and this time, I’m really fucked.”

As Riley rested her elbow against the door, she put her forehead into her hand trying to control herself until Sam jumped back in. “Maybe not. Look, Dean, I found Benton's cabin.”

“You okay? Was he there?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No.”

With a look of uncertainty, Riley asked, “no? Why not?”

“Guys, please just listen for a second. I found his lab book, and it has the formula.”

“You’re talking about his zombie formula?”

Sam sighed in exasperation. “It’s not a zombie formula.”

“Let me guess,” Dean started as he resituated in his seat. “I got to drink blood out of a baby's skull?”

“No, that's the thing. It's not black magic. There's no blood sacrifice or anything. It's just science, Dean. Very, very extremely weird science, but…”

Again the couple shared a glance as a small flicker of hope rushed through them. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dean said as he fumbled over his words. “What are--what are you saying? You think…”

“Dean, I think it might be doable. I mean, I know we've hit a shit ton of walls, but I--I think this formula--I think it might be it. This could save you.”

“Okay, so, this formula…”

“Well, I mean, look--we're not in the clear yet. There are still things that I don't get…” Before Sam could finish his sentence, the sound of garbled grunts and a struggle came through the line.

“Sam?” Riley asked with worry.

With fear and panic in his eyes when he didn’t answer, Dean called out, “Sammy!”

------

Strapped to a wooden operating table in Doc Benton’s damp cellar, Sam’s eyes were wide as they were taped to stay open. His heart was racing and his attempts to free himself were useless against the restraints at his forehead, wrists, waist, and feet.

“You can relax. It's all gonna be okay,” Benton told the hunter as he softly tapped his arm. “Ain't nothing gonna happen here that you got to worry about, Sammy. Your chances of coming out of this procedure alive? Very, very high.”

“How do you know my name?”

The doctor held a metal scooping tool to an open flame and ensured that it had been entirely warmed. “Oh, I know. You think I'm some kind of monster, don't you? Well, I got to tell you, I have never done one thing that I did not have to do. This whole eternal-life thing is very high-maintenance. If something goes bad, like my eyes here--” he told Sam as he leaned over to show off his faded dead eyes. Benton’s cold fingers traced Sam’s forehead as he admired the hazel eyes staring back at him. “You got to replace them. And sometimes things get damaged, like when your father cut out my heart. Now, that--that was very inconvenient. So, I'm sure that you can understand all the joy I felt when I read all about myself here in his journal.” Holding up John’s hunter’s journal, the doctor flipped to a specific page and flashed it in front of the trapped Winchester. “Kind of makes this whole thing just feel like some kind of family reunion, don't it? Well, I guess it's about time that we get this thing started.”

Tossing the journal off to the side, Doc Benton brought the scooper close to Sam’s open eyes. He began to position the tool to remove them completely. The hunter trembled and grunted as he still tried to get free.

Three loud shots rang out as Benton was shot from behind. He turned to see Dean with his gun still raised, though he grew nervous seeing that his attack appeared to have done nothing.

“Shoot all you want.” The doctor approached Dean who let loose two more rounds. 

Grabbing him, Benton threw Dean into the wall causing him to crash against assorted items and glass. He groaned at the impact before falling to the ground. As the half-dead man grew close to Dean once more, he leaned down and hovered over him.

A small grunt came from behind him as Riley thrust her blade into the doctor’s back. It went clear through and pierced his heart. He stood erect again and laughed. 

“A knife? What part of immortality do you not understand? Pity about the heart, though. It was a brand-new one.”

“Glad to hear it,” Riley retorted while softly panting. “Guess that means it’s gonna be pumping really strong…” She held up a bottle of chloroform with a mischievous expression as Benton began to wobble. “I mean, now this junk is gonna spread through your entire body. You see, Dean and I picked up your little bottle upstairs. A little dip of the knife and...presto.”

With a look of shock as he began to lose consciousness, the monster collapsed to the floor with a moan.

------

Doc Benton’s cries for release came from the freshly dug hole in the ground. Inside, was a refrigerator strapped shut by heavy metal chains. They clanged against the porcelain as the doctor tried to escape.

“No! No! Don't! Stop it! I can help you! No!”

Riley tossed Benton’s book into the hole to disappear along with the monstrous man. “Should’ve been in the ground a long time ago. Better late than never, I guess.”

“Dean...” Sam said softly as his family turned to face him. “We need that formula. I mean, we're talking hell in three weeks, or needing a new pancreas in like half a century.”

“Yeah, well--you can't exactly get those at a Kwik-E-Mart,” Dean countered.

“It's not perfect, but it buys us more time to think of something better. We just need time, Dean. I mean, please, just--just think about it.”

Staying silent, Riley closed her eyes as Sam’s emotions swelled over her like a tidal wave. She could feel his desperation and undying love for Dean. It didn’t matter what the cost, Sam was ready to pay that price to save his brother. And as much as Riley felt the same, she knew Dean too well; there was no way we would ever agree to an existence like Doctor Benton’s.

“...no. What he is, isn't living. Look, this is simple to me, okay? Black or white; human, not human. See, what the Doc is is a fuckin’ monster. I can't do it. I would rather go to Hell.” With one last look into the deep ditch where Benton continued to plead for his freedom, Dean took hold of a shovel. “Enjoy forever in there, Doc.”

As the three hunters began to fill the hole with the freshly dug soil, the muffled screams continued. 

“Let me out! I can save you! No. Don't!” The Doc wailed as he was slowly planted in the Earth.

------

The Eerie was a cheap motel that barely had enough business to stay afloat. Its neon lights had random letters flickering as their bulbs died.

On the second floor, Richard’s ridiculously priced shoes tapped against the cheap concrete flooring. He picked the lock of the door and opened it with ease.

As he stepped inside, he drew a gun from his coat and quietly entered. He raised his pistol and pointed it toward the two beds in front of him. 

Richard fired three shots through a silencer into the bodies lying under the covers; two in one bed and one in the other.

He moved closer and turned on the bedside lamp. The clock beside the bed showed it was 11:56 PM and he swiftly pulled back the covers. As he did, he revealed a sex doll slowly deflating. When Lewis checked the other bed, two more dolls continued to lose the air that hissed as it seeped out.

Disoriented and clearly in a state of urgency, Richard’s eyes darted across the room. His attention was stolen by the loud ringing that came from the phone on the nightstand. 

Picking it up, he put it to his ear.

“Hiya, Dick,” Dean snarked from the other end of the line. “Here's a fun fact you may not know. I felt your hand in my pocket when you swiped that motel receipt.”

With desperation in his voice, Richard replied, “you don't understand.”

“Oh, I'm pretty sure I understand perfectly. See, Rye and I noticed something interesting in your hotel room--something tucked above the door. An herb, Devil's shoestring? There's only one use for that--holding hellhounds at bay.” 

As Dean went on, Richard sat on the edge of the bed as he began to accept his fate. His eyes grew red as they filled with tears and he swallowed the massive lump in his throat, threatening his air. 

“So, you know what we did? We went back and took another look at your folks' obit. Turns out they died ten years ago...today. You didn't kill them. A demon did your dirty work. You made a deal, didn't you, Dick? And it's come due. Is that why you stole the Colt, huh? Try to wiggle out of your deal--our gun for your soul?”

“...yes.”

Riley could be heard sighing as she interjected. “It wasn’t enough though, was it? Taking the Colt?”

“They changed the deal. They wanted me to kill Sam...and you, Riley.”

“Yeah, I figured as much. But you’d think you’d know by now Richard, demons aren’t exactly trustworthy partners, are they? ...and it’s almost midnight.”

“Riley, I’m out of time and I’m out of options,” Lewis choked out with a broken voice. “I need your help. I know I don’t deserve it.”

“Do you deserve our help? No, you don’t. But the saddest part of all of this? If you would have just told us you needed help, we could have used the Colt and saved you from this mess.”

“I know and saved Dean as well. I know about his deal. The demon that holds it--she holds mine too. She said she holds every deal.”

“Who’s she?”

“Her name's Lilith.”

“Lilith?” Dean scoffed incredulously. “Why should I believe you?”

“You shouldn't, but it's the truth.”

“This can't help you, Dick--not now. Why you telling me this?”

Richard paused as a tear fell down his face. “Because just maybe you can kill the bitch.”

The line went quiet as the hunters were lost in thought. It was Dean that broke the silence. “I'll see you in Hell.”

Dean hung up and Richard was left alone in the motel room as he listened to the deafening dial tone coming from the phone. 

The receiver clicked as he hung up and the old clock flipped as midnight made its deadly appearance. Beads of sweat poured from Lewis’ face as deep howling came from the distance. He stood to look out the window, pale with fear.

Closer vicious growls came from behind him and hot panting breath blew through his hair. Lewis inhaled a sharp breath as his eyes squeezed shut.

His time was up, and the pits of Hell were waiting.

------

S3 Finale Prequel: Just for Tonight

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