#force him into situations where he has to comfort you lest the whole case be compromise by your instability

[the-unofficial-village-idiot]

Thinking about how i've been playing harry in regards to his interactiosn with kim and The Implications of it

[leamy-world]

Reaction to The Devil Judge (spoilers for ep. 9 & 10)

It’s been a while since i’ve last been on tumblr, but i got invested in this drama every week & the fandom’s analyses to not talk about it sometime! (Last time i was hooked, it was with Beyond Evil and i watched it by the time the finale already aired so i didn’t suffer from the weekly wait!)

So here i am, this is mainly self-indulgent with essay-long interpretations of some scenes in a totally random order, but i’d love to interact with whoever reads this if they want to react!

I’m sorry for the potential awkward phrasings, english is not my first language!

- The recap was nicely done and tied everything together, it made me realize so many things happened since the beginning! The repetition didn’t make me skip it, the narration was dynamic & fun.

- The ‘power display’ & threat Yohan showed to Soohyun (by lashing out at Juk Chang and strangling him, as proxy for Soohyun, in front of her while staring at her) were something …! She answered in the same fashion, passing by him saying she will ‘arrest Juk Chang’. I wonder how their next encounters will unfold.

- Many people already pointed this out, but Soohyun’s decision to leave Elijah, a minor, alone in her car (with its doors open, daring to tell her to stay there when she has no other choice anyway) + stop the gang alone and unannounced off duty was irresponsible. Anyways, i wonder if she will interact again with Elijah because they were adorable, i would miss it!

- The conversation between Soohyun & Gaon at his apartment (ep. 10) was interesting on both parts: 

It sounded casual, but Soohyun wanted to see where he stood in the Kang family and make sure he wasn’t in Yohan’s plans (i hope she didn’t seriously mean the ‘weird’ comment about Elijah, it’d be sad since Elijah enjoyed her company!).

Gaon was anxious professor Min told her about their last conversation (i think she’ll talk to him in the next eps). He also indirectly defended the Kangs by associating himself with them (« I’m pretty sure i’m just as weird ») and voiced his concern about Yohan, speaking more to himself than following the conversation at hand. 

When Soohyun changed the subject with the ‘i’m jealous’ bit, maybe it was to brighten the mood with a light-hearted comment, hoping Gaon would follow. And by the look of her pause right after, it seemed she was also expecting GO’s ‘positive’ reaction to her jealousy, giving in to the kind of teasing/flirt they have in their friendship. But deep down, it was also to voice her true unease about Gaon’s involvement with Yohan she had since the beginning and ep. 8. 

It’s obvious to us she meant she was jealous of Yohan. And GO could’ve understood it this way too, since she confessed to him multiple times and her feelings must be known to him (i think he takes it as a ‘joke’ given how many times she confessed and each time when he was crying, so maybe he thought, very reasonably, it was to cheer him up? I also guess he’s too absorbed by his current worries about the Kangs and her potential suspicion, to notice her attempts). 

But instead of that, he’s not in the same line of thoughts at all and picks up on the « rich », musing on what makes one’s existence rich, thinking Soohyun was envying Yohan’s position and life and proving her he’s indeed in a whole different world, empathizing with Yohan. 

She then looked like her face fell, until her eyes lit up again when he was about to admit she was precious to him along with his family.

By the way, this scene picks up right where we were left off in ep. 8, when Gaon tends to his plants:

« - Are you back for good? - Not really. They need some looking after. - You should come back, not drop by. This is where you live. - Someone there needs some taking care of too. - Take care of your own self, please. - What about me? I’m living a shamelessly comfortable life. Soohyun. - Yes? - What are you thinking about? - Nothing. By the way, Gaon … » (i wonder what she was going to say!)

Lost in thoughts, Gaon’s mixed emotions when he said Yohan was not rich (« he’s not rich. If you get to know him, Kang Yohan is really poor. ») were very well depicted by Jinyoung’s acting: the soft voice and the ghost of a smile that convey understanding and endearment, leaning on his counter in a relaxed stance, but also at the same time the stare lost in the space, maybe to all the memories tied to the Kangs and Yohan, and the tension in his left lip corner by the end of his sentence which betray his sadness and empathy with Yohan’s life. After this, when he became aware of Soohyun’s gaze, it’s like his bubble popped. He looked surprised with his eyes widening, and was fidgeting a little, then changed the subject to himself.

And « I have you, Soohyun » sounded truly grateful but also sad and conflicted, GO lets his worries show when she’s gone, maybe wondering if they would be bound to be against each other one day as he continues to side with Yohan, menacing to jeopardize their friendship to the point of no return. In these kinds of stories you expect these kinds of twists, but i grew fond of the cast send help

- I loved how Yohan’s confession to GO about his brother was filmed: the camera faced head-on his pain, slipping unbeknownst to him through the façade he always showed to protect himself. But this time, despite his (late) attempts to dismiss these feelings both for him and Gaon to regain composure (the hand gestures to hide his tears, pretending to be tough with the  « there’s no such things as innocent people », drinking away his sorrow with a bitter laugh that rings hollow), all this façade fades out in front of Gaon literally by being blurred out in the shot, as if he clearly sees his pain through (his silhouette appearing clear-cut between Yohan’s gestures). I know it’s a pretty classic shot but it fit well with this scene. He clenches his jaw in the next shot, moved by Yohan opening up. 

- The dinner scene was really moving …! Especially when you put the colder tones the kitchen had when we first saw Yohan have dinner by himself next to this scene, full of light in contrast! I wonder when the OST playing will be released, it was so beautiful and reminded me of My Mister’s OST (especially Rainbow!). I look forward to the lyrics, because most of the time the OST gives more layers & depth to the story and the characters! (please don’t let it be about Yohan’s budding feeling of a true ‘home’ ;;) I didn’t realize it upon my first watch, but Gaon really took the cutlery hostage, it cracked me up!

- The parallels in this show will be the end of me: Yohan went from the « i’m so sick of this place » (ep. 5) to asking K to drive him « home » with a delighted smile. 

- I liked the parallel of Yohan’s reaction to GO/Sun-Ah sitting in his office chair, impeding on his space (he reminds SA to stay out of it, the first time politely, the second time almost grimacing, his jaw clenched: « Just because you’re the head of the OSC doesn’t mean you can barge in like this (…) So please stop barging in like this. », while he says nothing to GO)

- At the beginning of ep. 10, we have Yohan saying he doesn’t like «  hanging out with people » & by the end of it, Soohyun saying « My childhood’s best friend is hanging out with a rich guy ».

- These two episodes gave more insight and nuance into Sun-Ah’s character, which was very nice ; and also Cha Kyung-Hee’s comeback (and her last confrontation with Sun-Ah!!!!)

- The people following Juk Chang also targeted sexual minorities according to the subs i had, i wonder if it will be addressed again sometime in the drama. 

- I loved Elijah’s « hacking » technique scene, i felt proud too! I always look forward to her scenes (and Kkomi’s too haha)! And her reaching out Gaon’s shoulder for the first time ;;

- The ‘humans lose their minds when they think they’ve lost what they have’ ……… repeated twice by YH ………… It will hit hard and all those lines will come right back at us viewers, but i’m not prepared haha! And also for the ‘if you want revenge, don’t hesitate’, i hope it doesn’t foreshadow a future revenge Gaon will execute without hesitation aaaaaa

Also, what lawyer Ko said about himself in ep. 8 may apply to Yohan’s case by the end, will he atone for what he did someday? (« I’m no longer a lawyer. I’m just a criminal. When all this comes to an end, I’ll pay for what i did. »)

- I really loved Yohan’s efforts to take into consideration both Elijah’s (he refrained himself from acting rashly like the last time she went out and listened to her) and Gaon’s feelings (stopping him from endangering himself recklessly, not forcing him onto the revenge path lest he’d regret it afterwards, and helping him to face the truth rationally). 

- « She’s hungry for affection. No matter how much you hate the world and the people in it, you can never live alone. You always need someone to rely on. As long as you’re a human being. » Many people commented on it, Gaon must speak from his own experience and empathizes with both Elijah and Yohan’s situation. These two episodes showed how Gaon cares for the Kangs more openly, and i live for it! 

- Give me that domestic scene where Gaon plays cards with YH, the nanny and Elijah! And also more K and lawyer Ko scenes!

- Jinjoo’s and Gaon’s intervention in the trial were gold! And Satie’s Gnossiennes rearrangement playing in the background during Juk Chang’s speech, it’s the cherry on the cake haha

- By the way, there was also an arrangement of Rachmaninoff’s piano concerto no. 2 during the first charity event Yohan went with Jinjoo in the earlier episodes, it was also beautiful!

- GO’s Awkward Smile. I have no words, it is now forever imprinted on my mind.

Have a nice week and take care!

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 175

175

Laying in the hospital bed, Lance felt like he had every machine known to mankind around him. He hadn’t passed out, but he wished he had as his pants were pulled down and he was examined. Two IV lines were running through his system, drugs mixed with the blood to halt the labour. Nurses checking on him every half hour. Beside him in the visitors chair sat Shiro. Shiro explaining that he was there because Keith, Pidge and Hunk were helping the nursing staff with their systems, Keith being the muscle that Shiro couldn’t be with his busted arm and neatly dressed head-wound.

Lance wanted to reach out and comfort Shiro who must have been desperately worried about Curtis. Lance was worried and he was on the fuzzy feel good drugs to keep him weakened lest his ego have a fit. Holding Shiro’s good hand, Lance rubbed his thumb back and forth over the hunter’s knuckles. Occasionally Shiro would squeeze his hand, but they’d remained relatively quiet. Lance hoping Keith would be released and running back to him, because he was sure his boyfriend would be better comfort than him to Shiro. All he could do was offer that empty sentiment “that everything would be okay”. The words most people didn’t actually want to hear because it only served to drive the situation home harder.

Hours must have passed before finally Pidge and Hunk were allowed in. His stomach exposed, covered in a band of sensors that monitored the twins condition. Rushing over to him, Hunk hugged him tightly

“You had us worried”

“I know. I had me worried too”

“Don’t ever do that again”

“I don’t want to. I’d be quite happy restarting today”

“You and me both. Are you going to be okay?”

“They seemed to have stopped the bleeding and the labour... I’m on drugs”

His voice was slurred, and Lance was pretty sure he’d drooled on himself. Pulling back, Hunk gave him a wobbly smile

“I can tell”

“I was only talking to Keith today about I don’t think I’ve ever been high. Like high high. But I think I have”

“I think you are right now. What happened?!”

“We pulled Shiro out?”

Pidge appeared beside Hunk

“He means with Keith”

Lance blinked, Shiro sighing

“He’s busy right now with the staff”

Something went down between the three of them that Lance missed

“I need a moment”

Shiro got to his feet, Lance frowning at the man leaving. Maybe he was going to check on Keith? And give him sometime with Pidge and Hunk? Or he could have been overwhelmed because Curtis wasn’t back yet? He didn’t realise he’d said these things out loud until Hunk drew his attention again

“How do you feel?”

“Tired. Like super tired... but I can’t sleep until Keith comes back”

Next thing he knew he was being hugged by Hunk again. It took a Herculean effort to lift his hand up to his best friend’s back

“You and Pidge did so good today. I’m so proud of you two. You’re like the greatest people ever”

“We should have worked faster...”

“I’m super duper sure you worked as fast as you could, because you guys are awesome saucem”

“Dude...”

Hunk started crying. Lance understood it’d been a long arse day for his best friends

“It’s okay... I’m okay”

“We saw Keith collapse and they took you off and then they took him and we weren’t allowed to see you”

Hold up... what? Something happened to Keith? When did that happen?”

“Keith collapsed?”

“We don’t know what’s going on. No one will tell us”

Deep from his memory Lance dredged out

“He was helping you?”

“Hunk, Shiro mustn’t have told him”

Pidge’s voice was soft, nearly drowned out by the way Lance’s heart started racing. Some machine going off at his elevated heart rate

“What do you mean he collapsed?!”

“Lance...”

“No. No... where’s Keith... where’s Keith?!”

Trying to struggled against the wires, nursing staff came in. Pidge and Hunk forced away from him as the nurses words were lost to his panic. Keith hadn’t been hurt. He’d been running around all day. This had to be a mistake

“Keith?! Keith!”

“Lance, you need to calm down”

Lance tried to tear away from the nurse, but couldn’t go anywhere in his drugged up state

“Keith!”

“Lance, you’ll bring labour on again if you keep fighting. Keith isn’t here right now”

“No. No... where is he?! Where is he?!”

He needed Keith. Keith to hold his hand and listen to his drugged up babble as they waited patiently for Coran and Allura to bring Curtis back up. Something pricked his arm, Lance growling as it did. Nurses were holding down his arm as his body bucked

“Keith!”

*

Holding Keith’s hand, Lance was the first one allowed to see him. Coran had no idea the chaos unfolding above him, he and Allura had “quite a time” convincing the demon to leave the physical realm. Apparently it’d become attached to them and was very reluctant to leave, causing chaos that required some demon overload named Bob to be summoned to help deal with it. Whatever. Lance didn’t care. Sitting in the wheelchair, he held Keith’s hand. Keith had some kind of subdural haematoma. They’d rushed him into theatre. He’d over heard the nurses talking about the prognosis, Keith’s left pupil blown, and they were unsure when the bleed began.

With a bandage around his head, and a tube in his throat, they were keeping Keith sedated. Like they’d kept him sedated for a full 8 hours of forced rest. Curtis was unconscious, though Coran assured them all he’d be in tip top shape once he woke and had a good months worth of rest. Nothing had gone right. Or at least that was the feeling Lance had. Seeing Keith like this, he didn’t know how he didn’t know. Like, he was a vampire, blood was his thing, but Keith had been running around with this time bomb in his head. Popping the breaks on the wheelchair on, Krolia let out a broken “oh, god”. Lance felt the same way. By the time Coran and Allura had returned with Curtis, Pidge had contacted Krolia, who’d contacted the few Blades in town, who’d then taken over things with Pidge’s help to bring all systems back on time until Coran returned nearly 26 hours after the summoning began at close to 1am the previous morning.

Lance felt so fucking shitty. He’d been so consumed by his own personal panic he hadn’t seen the signs. Keith had been complaining of a headache for a few days, but he just thought it was not enough sleep. Not some brain bleed. The prognosis terrified him. He didn’t know if Keith was going to wake up. Or if when he did, he’d be his Keith. All he really knew was about strokes. Though along the same lines, they were very different.

“Lance, he’s going to be okay”

How could he be okay? This was in his brain! Keith went above and beyond for him, only to be still sleeping off the surgery and anaesthesia. Hooked up to IV’s and oxygen, his boyfriend would have matched the number of machines Lance had waiting for him back in his room. Coming around the chair, Krolia squatted down in front of him, taking his face in her hands. His face might be facing her, but his eyes were on Keith

“This is Keith. He’s strong. There’s no way my stubborn son is going to miss seeing his twins growing up”

Hadn’t it been enough losing Mami? Not Keith... He couldn’t lose Keith. He refused to. He was selfish and he needed him. He couldn’t go back to a world without Keith in it

“Are you in pain?”

His heart was breaking, but that wasn’t what Krolia wanted to know. Numbly he shook his head

“Okay. Coran said only a short visit today”

He knew that. Absolutely no walking around or stressful activities. Coran feared Lance’s body had started trying to absorbed the twins from the threat the demon posed to him. That rather than let the twins be food for a rampaging demon, it was better to self abort and try again later. It disgusted him that his ego could flare so much, think it so superior, then betray all that false bravado and act like the twins weren’t the shining hope in Keith’s and Lance’s future. Shiro had cried and cried when Coran was explaining things to him. With no Mami there to hold him, or hold his hand, Shiro seemed to have appointed himself the spot. His future-brother-in-law apologising, though he had no reason too. Promising he’d take care of him. It wasn’t his place to make those sorts of promises. He wasn’t Keith. He didn’t automatically “inherit” Lance like some unclaimed baggage in the case of Keith’s untimely demise.

“How are my two favourite patients doing?”

Coran had agreed to give them a little bit of time for a private visit. Lance felt he needed to rework his limit as they’d barely been in there all of thirty seconds

“I think Lance is tired. Maybe we should get him back to his room? You can come back and see Keith after you’ve had some more rest, sweetie”

Krolia could go be tired by herself. And who was this “sweetie”. Krolia didn’t call people “sweetie”! He’d be happy to be forgotten here so he could stay with Keith

“That’s to be expected. That ego of yours took quite the unexpected bruising. To think one demon could cause that much chaos. The whole floor will need to be remodelled. We’re very lucky indeed that we finally convinced it to leave, nasty little blighters. Threw the whole complex into lockdown, spread its form through the halls in some kind of temper tantrum. Impervious to normal weaponry. Don’t you worry, we gave it a good thumping”

Krolia sighed heavily at Coran. Neither of them cared about the demon not when Curtis would be okay and Keith was like this

“That’s all well and fine, but what about my son?”

“Ah! Right you are. Number two required surgery, as you know he had quite the nasty little bleed. We’ve drained the bleed”

Lance’s ego has survived the first insult without being ruffled, but having Keith not called by his name. No. No way. Was that all Keith was? A fucking agent with a number and not a name?!

“He’s not “number two”! He’s Keith. You can at least use his goddamn name!”

Snapping at Coran, Krolia was the one who ended up yelled at in the face. The woman flinching a little, but Lance sincerely didn’t give two shits. Keith was better than being called by a damn number, even if the term was meant with love and endearment. Coran cleared his throat

“You’re right, Lance. I’m sorry. Keith is a valued member of VOLTRON, and a good man. Unfortunately, during the procedure there was a moment where his brain waves dipped. We are currently monitoring it, yet we have no way of knowing how okay he will be until he wakes up. There was some swelling, normally we wouldn’t medicate him in this manner when dealing with a bleed on the brain. I should be asking you if you feel anything...”

“He feels cold”

Keith’s hand was warm in his, but that warmth didn’t seem to radiate. He didn’t feel like death. He wasn’t shrouded in the bitterly cold air stealing feeling, but some of his natural warmth seemed be missing around the edges. He wanted to crawl up into Keith’s bed and cuddle him until Keith felt better. But Coran would never allow it

“You don’t mean...”

“No. Not like that... he’s not going to die. He’s not allowed to”

“Phew! You had me worried, boy. Let’s get you back to your room. We can come back by when Keith wakes up. I’ll take you back, Krolia, you may stay with Keith if you’d like”

“Thanks, Coran. Lance, I’ll let you know the moment Keith wakes”

That’s have to do. Protesting would only lead to sedation. He didn’t want to be sedated. Being held down and forced to sleep made him feel sick to his stomach. He’d rather be awake. Awake and waiting patiently for his boyfriend like a good little vampire.

[seagreen-meets-grey]

Hooked On A Feeling Ch. 3

When Hiccup and Astrid realize they’ve never hung out alone before, they decide to change that. And how do you better spend time with your Good Friend than by playing Mario Kart all night?

[Chapter 1: Come A Little Bit Closer] [Chapter 2: Fooled Around And Fell In Love] [Chapter 3: Go All The Way]

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net

_______________

Hiccup slowly blinked his eyes open.

Daylight was streaming through the window, along with a cool breeze that made him pull his blanket up to his chin. He had to bend his knees so his feet didn’t poke out on the other end, but there was little space for him to do so.

Astrid was lying on her back, arms folded over the covers, legs spread wide underneath like a starfish. His back hit the wall when he leaned back only slightly. It was no mystery who was in command over this large bed, he thought with a fond grin.

He could see her chest move with every even breath. A few strands of hair were hanging over the side of her face, quivering slightly with every exhale. Her braid was a mess, come loose in most places, spilling over her pillow like a golden meadow.

She looked so relaxed, so calm, so at peace that he didn’t dare to move lest he woke her, no matter how much his fingers twitched to gently push the hair out of her face.

The other reason he didn’t want her to wake up was that he didn’t know what had actually happened last night and what had been a dream. Had the flirty tension really hung between them the whole time? Had she really kissed him in her kitchen, had he panicked and made things awkward? Or was that just his subconscious trying to deal with the new things he felt for her that for some reason didn’t feel new at all?

Since there was no way he was able to go back to sleep now anyway, he figured he could at least try and make sense of this new dynamic between him and his friend.

Somehow, last night hadn’t come out of nowhere. It was like this thing had been building between them for a while and all it had needed had been a spark to ignite the fire. Spending time alone with only each other to focus on seemed to have done the trick. In his mind’s eye, he saw a slightly pixelated version of himself opening a chest and unlocking a new achievement. Next time he was playing Mario Kart, he’d go with Link, and Astrid could stick her stupid arguments elsewhere. Waluigi. Oh, please.

Hiccup didn’t know how long he’d been awake when she stirred, mumbling something incomprehensible under her breath, still drugged with sleep. When her eyelids began to twitch, he quickly closed his eyes and pretended to sleep like he’d not been staring at her like a creep.

For a few minutes, she was still, and he thought she’d fallen back asleep. But then she started blowing air on his face and he struggled not to break his sleeping poker face, failing spectacularly when he couldn’t hold it anymore and his shoulders started shaking.

“Ha! I knew you were awake!”

He opened his eyes, unable to keep his grin at bay, noticing with relief that she didn’t fare any better.

“Good morning.”

“It’s afternoon, Hiccup.”

“Good afternoon.”

“Good aft–“ She was interrupted by her stomach growling like a pack of hungry wolves in mid-winter. “Whoops. Guess it’s time for breakfast.”

When she crawled out from under the cozy blanket, Hiccup used the opportunity to sprawl out over the whole bed. The spot she’d just vacated was still warm and he snuggled into the pillow, humming contentedly. “Hmmm. Not breakfast. It’s afternoon.”

Something soft hit his head. It was one of her throw pillows. Instead of flinging it back at her, like she expected, he simply put it under his head and threw her a victorious smirk that earned him an eye-roll. Satisfied with his situation, he watched her pick up a brush and comb through her long hair, tousled and wavy from escaping her braid while she slept. It went down to her waist and his eyes followed her brush wander up and down, up and down, a methodical hypnosis luring him in.

For a few minutes, he was so focused on her hair that he didn’t even notice she wasn’t wearing any pants. He blinked a couple times, swallowed, and forced his eyes to the floor. But the damage was already done, the image of her navy-blue panties seared into his brain. He didn’t even have to wonder if her bra was in a matching color, because there it was, lying on the ground in his field of vision as if it was mocking him. Had she flung it there during the night? Had he slept here, clueless, while Astrid Hofferson had undressed right next to him until all she was wearing was panties and a t-shirt?

He couldn’t help himself, he had to look at her. It was impossible for him not to. When she inevitably noticed him staring, he blushed and deliberately averted his eyes.

“You know,” she said with a cheeky grin, “after all the tongue we shared last night, you’re allowed to look.”

He wanted to get up and share some more tongue then and there, but he didn’t have the courage to do it. Whatever had possessed him last night to kiss her (after he had so spectacularly ruined the moment the first time), it seemed to be dormant during the day. Late night decisions had a way of appearing sensible in the moment and showing their true ugly colors the next morning, or afternoon in this case. Luckily enough, Astrid didn’t seem embarrassed or regretful in any way. That had to count for something, right?

While she was taking a quick shower – that he had to force himself not to think about – he got dressed and flopped down onto her desk chair. He took it for a few spins until she returned with only a towel covering her body, her hair loose and dripping, almost giving him a heart attack. He quickly disappeared into the bathroom as well.

He met her in the kitchen where she was making coffee, dancing on the spot to last night’s playlist. While she was concentrated on that, her back to him, he stood in the doorway for a while, wrestling with his uncertainty about what to do and where they stood with each other now.

Finally mustering his courage, he walked up to her with the intention to casually slide his arms around her from behind. When he was almost there, however, arms ready to hug, all the bravery that had fueled him last night left him on the spot. Instead, he leaned on the counter next to her, close enough that he could put his chin on her shoulder like he’d done that morning before she’d fallen asleep in his arms. Goal achievement skills: pending.

“Do you think we should have even more caffeine?” he commented.

“You’re right,” she said and put three more spoons full of coffee powder into the machine. Ever since she’d woken up, she’d been wide awake, with only a moment to breathe in the shower where she’d had the chance to calm her fluttering heart. She wasn’t so sure if it was an after-effect of the many energy drinks she’d consumed in the span of one night or if the cause lay elsewhere. Probably both.

She’d thought she’d been prepared when she’d heard Hiccup walk towards her, but when his arm had touched hers and his face had appeared right next to her, her hand had briefly started shaking before she’d brought it back under control. Fortunately, she’d spilled the coffee powder directly over the brewer.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

His voice was distractingly deep and gravelly, probably still from sleep and because he hadn’t had any water all night – should they have drunk more water, with all the pizza and sugar and caffeine? – and because he was half talking into her shoulder.

“Don’t be such a baby, Waluigi.”

“Me?!” She almost pouted when his voice sounded a little clearer. “That’s rich, coming from a literal baby, Baby Peach!”

“I’ll have you know that this baby won last night.”

The downside of only two cups of coffee running through the machine was that they were doing so way too fast. She dreaded the moment they were done and she had no excuse to lean here against Hiccup anymore. Whatever had happened between them, it apparently hadn’t been limited to only last night.

“Yeah, because this baby cheated.”

Shaking her head, she turned towards him, finding him way closer than she was prepared for. She could see the thoughts scurry over his face like shadows fleeing from the sun, could feel his breath on her skin. Her heart beat faster when she smelled his minty toothpaste.

“Are you ever gonna let that go?” she murmured, eyes flickering between his eyes and mouth.

“Are you confessing?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not… gonna…” He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. The last drops of coffee trickled into the can. It fell on deaf ears.

This kiss was far more innocent in nature than the previous one. It lasted only a few seconds and ended in hands resting on arms and shoulders and touching foreheads. The playlist with music from the seventies was still on in the background and Astrid was sure she would always associate it with this moment from now on, as well as baking pizza, dancing in her small kitchen and taking Mario Kart way too seriously.

“You cheated.”

“No.”

“Yes.” His voice was so deep again and she wanted him to keep talking forever.

“Did not.”

“Yes, did.”

“Nope.”

“You cheated.”

Opening her eyes and seeing him so comfortable in a t-shirt, sweatpants, and the fluffy dragon slippers that he stole from her and that were way too small for him made her heart jump.

“So… What now?”

He looked at her with a serious expression. “Now you go to trial.”

She punched him on the arm and while he was busy gaping at her mock-offendedly, she backed away to the other end of the room and jumped on the chair furthest from him. “I’m not going to jail!”

He snorted. “And you think you’re safe over there?”

Crossing her arms, she gave him a challenging look. “Come try and get me.”

“Nah.” He opened her cupboard and reached for the largest mug he could find, filling it to the brim with coffee so that there was nothing left for another cup. Then he turned around and lifted it to his lips, eyebrows raised, waiting for her to give up first.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t.”

“I will. Unless you come here and face your sentence for cheating.”

“Never!”

“Okay, then.” Without breaking eye contact, Hiccup gulped down the entire cup of hot, black coffee, his smug expression morphing into a grimace as he tried to suppress a shiver. But he kept going until he slammed the empty mug onto the counter with a cry of disgust.

“And now you lost your only leverage.”

“But – gah! – but unlike you, I can always just leave while you have to camp out on your stupid chair all day.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Say, hypothetically, that I do answer for the crimes I haven’t committed. What would my sentence look like?”

Hiccup hummed in thought, taking his sweet time to answer. The chair hadn’t been very expensive, wobbling every time she shifted her weight. The only thing keeping her here was her stubbornness, really.

“If you plead guilty, you have to get me a second present for Christmas, too.”

That sounded manageable. She could just get him a roll of toilet paper or some grandma panties. For appearances’ sake, she pretended weighing out her options, before eventually jumping down from the chair. She crossed the room and punched him on the arm once more.

“Ouch! What was that for?!”

“Blackmailing me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She met his innocent expression with an unimpressed look that softened at the edges the longer she was exposed to the radiance of his smile. She could already tell that his mere joy and excitement was going to be a weak spot of hers. How had she ever been able to withstand it before?

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet you still haven’t thrown me out of your house.”

“I can still do that.”

“Then do it.”

She bit her lip. Was she actually considering it, just so she wouldn’t have to back down from his deliberate provocation? But wouldn’t that mean to let him win because she reacted to his challenge exactly as he thought she would?

With a frustrated groan, she moved to get the pizza out of the fridge and ignored Hiccup’s probably very smug grin. But when she glanced at him past the open fridge door, he was just looking at her with a soft smile.

“You’re really enjoying yourself there, aren’t you,” she asked and his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

“Sorry, do you need my help with something?”

Her heart exploded from the sincerity in his voice, as if he was really concerned that he was being inconsiderate. “Yes, actually. Come here and I’ll show you.”

Now his expression grew wary. “Is this going to hurt?”

“Only if you keep hesitating.”

Still suspicious, he cautiously approached her, blinking in surprise when she gave him a peck on the cheek.

“Thank you, that will be all for now.” With that, she spun on her heels and went about heating the pizza in the microwave.

“Is it always going to be like this from now on?” Hiccup asked, carefully reaching for her hand. She pretended to swat it away, but couldn’t find it in herself to go through with it, instead interweaving their fingers and squeezing them once.

“I’d like to try and see where it goes.”

He squeezed her hand back and met her eyes with a dazzling smile. “Me too.”

_______________

“Ho-ho-ho!”

Five pairs of eyes turned to the door of Snotlout’s living room where an inebriated Tuffnut was leaning against the frame to hold himself upright. He was wearing a Santa costume that he was clearly not the target audience for, and tied to one of his dreadlocks with a rubber band was a rumpled-looking mistletoe.

“Did you steal that from one of the hookers down the street?” Astrid asked, taking in the red leather and white plush covering only a minimal part of Tuff’s body, showing more hair than anyone present was comfortable with.

“Five bucks at the dollar store,” Ruff said, raising her hand for a high-five to Hiccup who was sitting next to her. He only pulled up an eyebrow at her and Ruff shrugged, high-fiving herself. Hiccup shot Astrid a meaningful look and she grinned back. He didn’t have to say anything.

Tuff sashayed over in his crocs, producing a large paper bag from behind his back and making a big show of dropping it on the table. Inside were the Christmas presents they had all gotten each other and had put on the kitchen table when they arrived so they could hand them over later that night.

“Ho-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!” Tuff slurred. He’d clearly had too much of the egg-nog Astrid had brought – actually, if she thought about it, he’d been the only one drinking it. No surprise that he was wasted; she’d spiked it with rum, vodka, and beer, after all. Even she herself hadn’t had the chance to try it, which was a shame. It had looked delicious.

“Dude!” Snotlout complained, leaning away from Tuff whose mid-section was way closer to him than he would have liked. “Get your testicles out of my face!” He shoved Tuff so he fell backwards into the armchair that Fishlegs was currently occupying.

With a horrified expression, Fishlegs tried to push their slutty Santa out of his lap. Ruff whipped out her phone and took a whole series of pictures while Hiccup got up and helped maneuver Tuff into an empty chair. When Santa had his own chair, he flopped down on the couch next to Astrid who reclined into his side. She couldn’t wait to give him his present.

“Okay, let’s start!” she exclaimed cheerily. “Who wants to go first?”

“Oh, me! Me! Pick me!”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, Tuff goes first.”

While presents were being exchanged, Hiccup’s arm curled around Astrid’s side and it felt like it had always belonged there. It stayed there the entire time, even when he was opening presents. He just had to wrap her closer into his embrace to use both his hands properly, but it wasn’t like she was complaining.

After most presents had been opened, she didn’t want to wait anymore. She reached into the plastic bag and produced the extra present she had gotten for Hiccup, true to her word. Spotting the cheeky look in her eyes, he knew what she was up to and grabbed the extra present that he had to give her for her victory.

“Here you go, cheater,” he said and she huffed in fond exasperation. Well, every great victory came with a sacrifice, she thought, and now she had to live with the consequences. He handed her the slightly bulky package that looked suspiciously like the one she handed him in return. Even the gift wrap was the same.

With a sense of foreboding, she removed the paper – and burst out laughing. Hiccup joined in only a moment later, holding up the little Baby Peach plushie she’d bought at the same store he must have gotten her new Waluigi plushie from.

She buried her face in his shoulder in an attempt to stop the giggles that started anew every time she looked at their matching presents. When she looked up again, Hiccup was smiling at her lopsidedly.

“Thank you. I’ve always wanted a Baby Peach plushie.”

“You’re welcome.” She had to bite her lip to prevent herself from laughing, the serious tone of his voice in contrast to his expression too tempting. “How did you know I’ve always wanted to put a Waluigi toy on my shelf so it can watch me in my sleep with that creepy grin?”

He shrugged. “Who doesn’t want that? You can’t return it, by the way.”

“Why would I ever return it?” she asked, completely earnest, and watched the mirth in his eyes turn into that soft adoration that never failed to make her knees go weak. She was glad she was sitting down.

They met in the middle, melting into each other, ignoring the protests coming from Snotlout’s general direction.

“Come on, guys, do you have to do that all the time?”

“I think it’s cute,” Fishlegs countered.

“Yeah,” Ruffnut chimed in, “just because you’ve never kissed a girl, you don’t have to ruin it for others.”

“Excuse me, I have so kissed girls!”

“Your mom doesn’t count,” it came from Tuff who was slouching in his chair, still wearing that ridiculous costume.

“I wasn’t talking about my mom, and will you please put on some pants, dude?!”

Astrid broke away from Hiccup, sharing one last knowing gaze with him before turning back to their friends. “Snotlout, one day you will find someone to play Mario Kart with, too.”

“Yeah,” Tuff drawled, “I still don’t believe that’s what you did. I think you just–“ He smacked his hands together repeatedly.

“I guess you’ll never know,” Hiccup said and even winked at Astrid for good measure. She grinned. Messing with their friends was still the most fun when they did it together.

Later that night, when Hiccup was dropping her off at her house, she couldn’t shake the giddiness that wouldn’t stop overcoming her at any given moment ever since that night a few weeks ago. It felt like the caffeine she’d ingested into her system back then had never left her body, pumping through her veins with every beat of her heart.

Regarding the Waluigi plushie in her hand, she decided this night wasn’t over yet. She nudged her boyfriend with the toy and challenged him with a suggestive grin. “Wanna come inside and play some Mario Kart?”

[overstimulatethis]

Of Course [Supercorp fanfic]

Fandom: Supergirl

Pairing: Supercorp, background k*ramel but it’s not a thing i promise (mostly a Lena case study)

Rating: T

Summary:  Of course. Leave it to Lena Luthor to have the kind of luck that has her newly-found mentor betraying her, kidnapping her, and forcing her to marry the prince of Lena’s nightmares—the one currently courting Kara Danvers. As if she hadn’t already had enough trouble throughout her entire life trying to denounce herself of the Luthor brand, she was now being forced to participate in the takeover of the world. Of course.

Chapter: 1/1

Of course. Of course. Leave it to Lena Luthor to have the kind of luck that has her newly-found mentor betraying her, kidnapping her, and forcing her to marry the prince of Lena’s nightmares—the one currently courting Kara Danvers. As if she hadn’t already had enough trouble throughout her entire life trying to denounce herself of the Luthor brand, she was now being forced to participate in the takeover of the world. Of course.

She hated how good the red dress she’d been given looked on her. She hated everything it represented in that moment, and she hated that it was touching her body. If she’d had any say in the matter, however, she never would have picked such a bright red. And the crown. Lena rolled her eyes as she glanced at the offending garment in the mirror. How terribly gaudy.

When the guards came to retrieve her for the ceremony, she felt her mask slip into place, the one she kept up around people like her mother. She took a deep breath before following them down the hall of the spaceship—and that was taking some getting used to, as well—and into the main chamber. Rhea was waiting for them with a nauseating smirk. One of the guards held out a hand to Lena to escort her to the altar; she could barely hold back an eyeroll as she scoffed, “Yeah, I’m good.”

And then, she was holding hands with the one thing that stood between herself and Kara—well, she supposed in this present moment that there were some decidedly larger things standing in her way. As much as she knew and understood that she had to work with this Mon-El, she couldn’t quite quell the slight ache in the pit of her stomach at the physical proximity to him. She shook her head ever-so-slightly to force herself to tune into what the alien woman before her was saying.

Right when Lena felt as if she were going to puke, Cat Grant decided to make a surprise reappearance and save her marital status for the time being. She couldn’t help but glance over at Mon-El as they were being escorted back to their chambers, and Lena felt Cat Grant’s words echoing in her ears.

The next thing she knew, they were escaping—and rather successfully, at that. When she finally found a purpose for that terrible crown, she stumbled a bit, because Mon-El had gone and said something stupid like, “I see why Kara loves you.” So, of course, Lena had immediately been reminded of the fact that the love she received from Kara was not the kind she wanted. Her jealousy flared, and it was difficult to force herself back into the current moment. She mustered up a, “Likewise,” in return before continuing their escape, telling herself to refocus on the situation.

And then Kara showed up, and Lena immediately felt that stupid, dopey smile that she always got around Kara take over her face—but then Mon-El was stepping forward, and Kara wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. Lena’s expression fell quickly. She saw Kara glancing back and forth between the two of them like a confused puppy.

“Uh, Kara Danvers sent me to get you,” Kara rushed to explain.

Surprisingly, the words weren’t what broke Lena; it was the way Kara immediately turned to look at Mon-El as if he put the sun in the sky. Lena suddenly felt completely exhausted. She looked down at her shoes as she made a hasty exit, accidentally brushing shoulders with Kara on the way out.

Kara did nothing.

But her mother was here to save her, supposedly. That was something, possibly. She never knew if she could really be off-guard with Lillian and be safe simultaneously.

As they walked to complete their escape, Lena’s mind immediately went back to Kara. She shouldn’t have been so disappointed. She wasn’t dating Kara. In fact, Kara was most certainly dating someone that was the complete opposite of Lena, so there was no way she would ever even have a chance, if that was Kara’s type.

Plus, there’s the whole fact that Lena had known that Kara was Supergirl for months, now, and Kara still hadn’t informed her, herself. Every time they had another intimate moment—both with Kara and Supergirl—Lena would start thinking, this is it. She’s going to tell me. But she had been left disappointed every time.

Sometimes, she considered simply confessing to Kara that she knew; God knew the poor girl needed one less secret to—“What are you doing, Mother?” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could control them, but her stomach was rolling intensely again as she was transported back to Earth without warning.

“Humans only, dear,” Lillian replied, before contacting Alex and telling her it was okay to fire the positron cannon that would evaporate the Daxamite Mothership… and everyone on it.

It took Lena a moment to process the words. She felt as if all the breath had left her, as if she were going to implode with emotion—anger at her mother’s prejudice, longing for Kara, anxiety for her safety… But Kara would figure something out. Supergirl always survived, even when it wouldn’t seem as if Kara Danvers could. She prayed she would find a way out of this, as well.

Her heart skipped as someone else was transported to the warehouse. When only Mon-El appeared, however, all her breath left her with a shrill, “Where’s Supergirl?”

“Supergirl stayed up there!” Mon-El said. Lena had never wanted to throttle him more severely.

But then the cannon itself exploded. And well, Lena went a bit numb after that. She didn’t remember much about how she got to her apartment, past the paparazzi and up the elevator; but she was somehow aware enough to strip out of the red dress, scrub her skin clean under a scalding hot shower, find clean clothes, and pour three glasses of whiskey.

Eventually, she stopped downing each drink in one go and took a glass to the couch. As she sat down, she noticed that obnoxious red mocking her from her peripheral vision. She studied it harshly, as it now lay rumpled on the floor. It was useless, now. It had no power over her. Lena narrowed her eyes as she started to contemplate whether to donate the dress to charity, sell it for money to use as a donation to charity, or burn it.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and her mother, of all people, stepped through. Half-drunk and heartbroken, she only had about 12% control on what she said, for a while. But once Lillian proposed her idea for the lead dispenser…

This was the second time Lillian had been kind to Lena in a row, but she still couldn’t fully trust her. After all, she had tried to get Kara vaporized. She didn’t really care about how Lena felt.

However… it was a good idea.

Of course, this meant that Lena had to see Kara again, very soon—much sooner, in fact, than she really was comfortable with. But she wanted to make sure that she was giving full disclosure, lest she be suspected as the villain once again. So, she and her mother met with Superman and Supergirl to tell them about their idea for the device.

Seeing Kara was difficult, extremely so. She looked exhausted, and that crinkle looked like it might have become permanent. Lena’s heart ached for her, even more so when she saw the moment Kara realized that she might have to sacrifice Mon-El for the sake of the planet. Her jealousy at Kara’s feelings for him was dampened down by the incredibly uncomfortable feeling of causing Kara pain.

Kara told them to go ahead in developing the device, though. Lena wanted so badly to reach forward and grasp Kara’s arm in comfort—but she wasn’t Kara right now. She was Supergirl, and Lena Luthor, as Kara knew her, would not reach out to Supergirl like that. So, she resisted the urge, feeling sick at the entire situation.

Something in her gut told her to make sure only Kara could switch on the lead device, and she was proud of her instincts for a moment when Lillian tried to activate it before they had planned. Always so hasty. It was one of her few predictable traits. Lena fought hard to hide a smirk at the small win. She would take it, though.

It’s unfortunate, Lena thought, that Kara ended up having to use the device, after all. As much as she loathed the frat boy out of jealousy, he didn’t deserve this—and Kara most definitely did not. Kara could never do anything to deserve such heartbreak; Lena was sure of it.

She desperately wanted to reach out to her over the next week, but she had no clue how to do so. What does one say to their best friend/love interest who just lost their slightly-emotionally-abusive significant other because he was part of a race of aliens that were trying to take over the world? Eventually, she decided that she would let Kara have some space.

However, the day after she made this decision, Agent Danvers stopped by her office (Lena had returned to work the day after the entire fiasco, of course). She looked almost nervous as she took the offered seat in front of Lena’s desk. “How can I help you, Agent Danvers?” she started. “I’ve already given my statements to the relevant departments regarding the… Daxamites.” Her voice had caught ever-so-slightly before the name of the alien race that had kidnapped her. She loathed the way it still affected her so.

“Oh, no,” Alex replied with an awkward laugh, “that’s not what—um, I’m here on more… personal business?” Lena raised an eyebrow, relaxed back in her chair, and motioned for the elder Danvers to continue. “It’s about Kara.”

Lena sat forward immediately, at that. “Is she all right?” She almost cringed at the slightly desperate tone in her voice, but Alex didn’t point it out.

“No, yeah, she’s fine! Well, I mean… I guess it really depends on how you define ‘fine…’”

Lena held back a huff. “Alex, what’s going on with Kara?”

Alex seemed to deflate in front of her. “Well, you know that she was dating that Daxamite, Mon-El… who kind of ended up having to leave the planet. And I’m pretty sure she’s told you some things about their relationship, which is—er, was—pretty, uh, turbulent, to be quite honest. So, she’s just kind of… lost?”

Alex leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. She ran a hand through her hair and finally met Lena’s gaze. Lena held back a flinch at the open way in which Alex was looking at her, the high-intensity emotions making her uncomfortable.

Alex sighed a bit before continuing. “You’re… the only other one who was there, with her, with…” Him. She didn’t have to say it, but she gestured vaguely off to the side, anyway. Lena nodded to show her understanding. “So, I think you’re really the only one who she’ll be willing to talk to, right now.”

Lena felt the beginnings of a blush coming on. She sat back a bit in her chair, opposing Alex’s stature. She shook her head. “She hasn’t reached out to me once. I’m not sure you’re right with this.”

Alex rolled her eyes. “Kara is… such a giving person that she never wants to burden anybody else with her problems. She has a really hard time asking people for help.” It made sense, Lena realized. Who else could be so selfless to become Supergirl? “But I promise you. I know her. You’re her best shot at healing, right now.”

Lena bit her lip in thought, swiveling back and forth in her chair a bit. “I wouldn’t even know what to say, or how to behave… whether to text her or call her, or…” Her brain was kind of going into overdrive, short-circuiting at the thought of seeing Kara before she had fully processed how to feel about her.

“Honestly,” Alex interrupted, “all you have to do is show up at her apartment around at least a vague resemblance of a dinner time, with at least five cartons of takeout, and she’ll either eat it all in one bite, collapse crying into your arms gratefully, or kiss you.” She gave a light chuckle at her joke, but Lena had to force herself not to choke at the image.

“Five cartons of takeout. Got it. Wait.” She leaned forward again, palms flat on the desk in front of her. “What kind of takeout? Chinese? Italian? Thai? Pizza?” She had only been to Kara’s apartment to hang out a mere handful of times, and it had definitely been a while since their last get-together. Lena could feel herself becoming increasingly frazzled.

“Literally anything, Lena. You know Kara. You’ve seen her eat.” Alex laughed more openly this time, which helped Lena let out a more genuine chuckle in response. “So, are you down?” She was much more relaxed, now that Lena had become decidedly less tense.

Lena said, “Yes, of course,” before she gave it a single thought. It didn’t stop there, either; words that she couldn’t stop just kept tumbling out of her mouth. “I’ll go over to her apartment tonight, then.” Her heart raced as the reality sunk in.

“Okay.” Alex smiled widely. “That’s great. Thank you, Lena. I really appreciate it. And, um,” she shifted in her seat, “I also wanted to know… how are you? I mean, are you processing everything okay? Did you need someone to talk to?”

Lena immediately thought of the glasses of whiskey she’d been looking forward to drowning herself in that night. She didn’t know how to respond, but Alex continued talking with a kind, serious tone.

“I know we’re not close, or anything, but it appears that our lives are going to be intertwined in some way, no matter what. I’d like to be your friend. I guess what I’m trying to say,” she jokingly rolled her eyes at herself as she smiled, “is that I’m here if you need me.” Alex tucked some of her red-brown hair behind her ear, in a move that instantly reminded Lena of Kara.

Honestly? Lena had no clue how to act in response to such open kindness. She had fumbled her way through these kinds of situations before, with Kara, but for now, she was at a complete loss for what to say.

But Alex didn’t seem to mind. Her eyes shined with understanding. She knew about Lena’s relationship with her mother, how she had never been given kindness without the expectation of something in return. It was clear that she was being patient and letting Lena work through her emotions to say what she wanted to say.

Lena’s heart felt… fuller.

“I…” Lena coughed to clear her throat a bit. “I think it goes without saying that I greatly appreciate the offer, Alex. And I would truly love to be your friend, as well.” She found a smile slowly growing on her face at the prospect. “I, um… I’ve been coping. Probably not in the healthiest of ways,” she looked down at her fidgeting hands, “but I’m… managing. It was definitely a… difficult experience.” She looked back up to Alex with a shrug and a hint of a smile.

Alex hummed, mirroring Lena’s posture. “It was… a very emotional time. Nights are hard. If you ever find yourself in need of some company,” she said as she pulled out a business card, writing her personal number on the back of it, “feel free to call me, any time. It helps to talk about what happened with someone who shared in the experience, sometimes. I’m sure Kara would love to talk with you too, though. It’s completely up to you, but here.” She handed the card to Lena, who took it with a hint of astonishment.

The Danvers sisters were like no one else Lena had ever met.

“Thank you, Alex,” she said softly, with as much genuineness as she could inflect in her words. “This really means… so much to me. Thank you.” She looked up at Alex’s blurry figure to realize that her eyes were starting to tear up. She hastily blinked the wetness away and smiled openly at the agent in front of her.

“It’s really no problem, Lena. I should let you get back to work, but I mean it—call me any time.” She smiled again as she stood, but paused a bit before she moved away. “Um… you’re probably used to this from my sister, but—can I hug you?”

A laugh escaped Lena’s throat before she even realized it was there. She found herself standing and walking around her desk, into Alex Danvers’s open arms.

Honestly, it wasn’t quite as nice as one of Kara’s hugs, but it was wonderful all the same.

Work was a blur after Alex left. She’d been so distracted about going to see Kara for dinner that she didn’t really remember doing anything else besides telling Jess to free up her schedule beyond five o’clock that evening. The next thing she knew, it was 6:30, and she was carrying two bags containing a massive amount of pot-stickers and other assorted Chinese foods down the hall to Kara Danvers’s apartment.

Her heart was beating rapidly. When Kara opened the door almost immediately after Lena knocked, she wondered if the Kryptonian had been able to hear it pounding against her chest.

“Lena! Hi!” Kara said, looking slightly bewildered to see her, but smiling widely nonetheless. “What are you doing here? I mean, not that you’re not welcome here, of course—come in!” She waved her in, continuing to ramble as she did so. “You’re welcome here any time, I hope you know that—well, I mean I guess you do know that, since you came over right now without asking—which is totally okay! I love that you came! Honestly, I—”

“Kara,” Lena interrupted gently. She could feel the adoring smile on her face, that same stupid one she got when Kara showed up on the Daxamite ship. “I honestly just wanted to see you. I’ve missed you, and a lot has happened… I just wanted your company. Obviously, I’ve brought compensation-slash-bribery, as well.” She held up the bags of takeout, which Kara scrambled to take for her.

“Oh, trust me,” Kara replied as she set the food down and went about grabbing forks, “while food is always accepted and appreciated, bribery to spend time with you is never necessary.” Kara paused after she seemed to have gotten all of the necessary equipment. She took a quick, deep breath that moved her shoulders as she stood and fully met Lena’s gaze. She smiled softly before opening her arms, and Lena gratefully fell into them.

Honestly, there was nothing like a hug from Kara Danvers to make her feel both vulnerable and invincible simultaneously. She could feel herself practically melt into the embrace, her heart calming against Kara’s strong chest. Kara had her right hand between her shoulder blades, and her left hand was slowly, softly, comfortingly moving up and down her lower back.

She wished she could have this every day.

Eventually—probably after longer than what would normally be appropriate—Kara released Lena from the warmth of her arms. She looked down at Lena with a soft smile. “Would you want to watch something while we eat? Or we could talk and catch up a bit?” she asked as she started setting the boxes out by the couch.

Lena’s heart started to quicken again at the prospect of talking—any time she talked to Kara, it seemed that she spilled her emotions out all over the floor. She would rather not take over the night like that quite yet, not when she truly had missed Kara’s healing presence and company. So, she followed Kara to the couch and suggested that Kara pick out a movie for them to watch.

Halfway through the movie, however, Lena noticed that Kara wasn’t even looking at the screen; she was just staring at some point in space in front of her. She reached out and touched a hand to Kara’s shoulder, ever-so-gently.

The superhero didn’t jump, but she did turn to face Lena very quickly. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?” Lena asked before worrying her lip. “Of course, considering the recent events, you’re most likely not okay.” Lena sighed at herself, withdrawing her hand. “I mean to say—how have you been? I’ve wanted to check in on you for a while, but I didn’t quite know how.”

Kara simply stared at her for a moment, before her face slowly crumpled as a sob escaped. Lena reached out again immediately, bringing Kara close to her and holding her tightly as she cried into her chest.

When her sobs died down, Lena didn’t stop rubbing her hand over Kara’s arm or holding her in place. She felt them both relax into each other. It was… content.

“Thank you,” Kara nearly whispered, her voice hoarse from crying.

“It’s no bother at all, Kara,” Lena assured her. “You’ve been there for me countless times. I think it only makes sense that I be here for you, as well. Besides,” she cleared her throat a bit, causing Kara to shift so that she could see her face better while still laying against her, “I’ve been… struggling with some of these events, as well. I think, maybe, we could be there for each other, right now.” It came out as more of a question, but Kara was smiling at her, so it couldn’t have been too bad.

“That would be perfect, Lena. Honestly, you’re about the only person I can fully tolerate seeing right now. I can’t even be around Alex for too long before I get… tense and agitated. But with you, well….” She smiled before snuggling back into her embrace with Lena.

She had to hear the way Lena’s heart was fluttering, even without using super-hearing.

Speaking of superpowers…

“I know you’re Supergirl,” came out in a whisper before she could stop it. Apparently, some part of her had decided that she was going to confess her knowledge of Kara’s alter ego today. It would have been nice if the rest of her had been given a warning.

Kara’s head shot up off of Lena’s chest. “Wait, what?” she said with a forced scoff. She waved her hand through the air. “Lena, come on.”

Lena stared at her flatly before reaching forward and yanking down the column of buttons on her shirt, parting them to put the Supergirl emblem on full display. Kara was left agape for a long moment.

“I’ve known for months now, Kara,” Lena confessed gently. “I was waiting for you to tell me, but after almost losing you, I—” Crap. Here she was again, drowning the floor in her word vomit. “I knew that I just had to be as truthful with you as possible, to have the best relationship with you that I could possibly have before something happens to take it all away.” She rolled her eyes at herself before looking down at her hands. “I’m trying to stop holding everybody that cares for me at arm’s length.”

Kara didn’t say anything. Lena saw her glance over to the television, where the credits of the movie were rolling. Kara turned the television and DVD player off before turning to Lena and finally speaking. “It’s late. Do you want to stay over tonight?”

At the mention, Lena couldn’t stop a yawn from stretching her mouth open. Kara giggled and continued, “Yeah, you’re tired. Let me get you something more comfortable and less tear-stained to wear. I don’t mind sleeping on the couch, but I get the feeling that…” she paused, causing Lena’s breath to stop as well. Kara bit her lip and sighed. “I think we both might sleep a bit better with someone else next to us. Don’t you think?” She fidgeted with her glasses as she waited for a response.

Honestly? The offer sounded absolutely wonderful. Sleeping with Kara next to her would probably make her wake up feeling amazing. She felt a bit of guilt at not sharing her feelings for Kara, as well—as if she were taking advantage of her by accepting her offer. But, honestly, Kara had offered, and Lena would never do anything that Kara was uncomfortable with.

“I would greatly appreciate it, Kara. Thank you,” she finally responded, softer than she normally would. She saw a warmness cover Kara’s expression at the sound of a message meant for her ears only.

Soon, Lena had changed into a pair of Kara’s sleeping pants, which hung low on her hips and past her feet, and an oversized t-shirt Kara claimed had magical powers.

It smelled like her.

They got into bed once Kara turned the lights off, facing away from each other. Lena was suddenly surrounded with that same smell of Kara, and she wished she could stay here every night.

She heard Kara turn over behind her. “Hey, Lena?” she said softly, as if Lena could have fallen asleep so quickly.

Lena turned over to face Kara, in return. “Yes, Kara?” she replied, just as softly.

In the darkness, Kara was just barely outlined in the silver-blue moonlight peeking through the window blinds. Her glasses were off, but Lena still saw Kara Danvers. And she was absolutely beautiful.

Then Kara lightly placed a hand on Lena’s jaw, catching her completely off guard. It was the most intimate touch Lena had received from her to date. It took her breath away.

Kara stroked her thumb over Lena’s skin before continuing. “I want you to know that I love you. So much. And if it hadn’t been for…” she paused, closed her eyes, and shook her head. Lena placed her own hand over Kara’s to hold it in place and show that she understood what she meant. Mon-El. “…well, who knows what could have happened by now with us. But now, things got so… so messed up, and I just wanted to tell you that you shouldn’t wait for me.”

Lena was extremely confused. A roller coaster of emotions ran through her at the mini-speech Kara gave. She gripped Kara’s hand tighter, but the superhero was still talking.

“I don’t want you to wait for me to get my head together and waste your time on me. I just want you to do whatever makes you happy. Okay?” She looked at Lena with her eyes shining gray in the moonlight.

“Of course,” Lena whispered with another squeeze to Kara’s hand on her jaw, “but, just so you know, I’d wait forever for you and still be happy just to be your friend.” She gave a small smile, which Kara immediately returned.

Kara shifted to press their foreheads together, and Lena could feel the pull of her lulling her to sleep. They brought their hands down off of Lena’s face to meet between them, their feet tangled slightly at the other end of the bed.

Of course, it was the best night’s sleep Lena had ever gotten.

[captainkippen]

battle of the bros • part one

This is going to be a multi-part prompt fill I guess.

And yes, that is the title i’m sticking with.

“Do you not think this is all a little unnecessary?” Cyrus asks voice muffled from where he’s holding the hem of his sweater over his nose. He’s perched on a counter watching Buffy and Jonah in grim fascination as they meticulously fill water balloons with a variety of foul-scented ingredients. He hadn’t even known you could make homemade stink bombs before he walked into the Delta Rho’s kitchen and found them all at work.

“No,” they all respond at once. “It’s what they deserve,” Buffy adds on. “For the cellophane. It took forever to unwrap my car. They could’ve damaged the paint! I was late for a meeting with my advisor because of it.”

Cyrus rolls his eyes. You would think by their junior year of college that everyone would be over and past childish things like fraternity prank wars, but that is totally not the case. Delta Rho (along with Buffy’s sorority of Kappa Kappas) have been at war with the Thetas across the street for going on two years now. He can’t even remember what started it but he’s sure if he asked one of his friends would remind him in vivid detail of whatever it was. Cyrus isn’t part of a frat and he’s still not sure how he managed to get sucked into a group of friends absolute full of Greek members but sometimes (like right now) he wonders what it would be like to have some nice, normal, not-totally-insane friends.

“How are you even planning on getting them into the house?”

“Launch ‘em through the window,” Jonah replies without looking up. “They always leave them open.”

“You know if TJ sees you he’s actually going to kill you, right?”

TJ Kippen is the president of Theta Psi. He’s tall, mean and on the hockey team. He’s also very good looking but Cyrus thinks it’s best not to focus on that considering he’s been declared Buffy and Jonah’s Mortal Enemy. Still… it doesn’t hurt to look sometimes. He can’t be that bad. The one encounter Cyrus and TJ have had that involved actual words was one night at a bar near campus where TJ saved him from a creepy guy. This, however, was not enough to convince Jonah and Buffy to call a truce.

Jonah snorts. “He won’t see us. He’s got psych class.”

“Okay, first it’s disturbing that you know his schedule,” Cyrus says. “And two, aren’t stinkbombs a little juvenile?”

The whole situation is juvenile but he elects not to point that out lest he get a stink bomb thrown at him.

They all look up with matching grins.

“Got any better ideas?” Buffy asks sweetly.

He lets out a loud groan. The entire time this feud has been going on the others have been trying to recruit Cyrus into their forces all because one time when he was a little tipsy he gave them the idea of sneaking into the Theta house and buttering the floors. The resulting video had gone viral. Who knew people would find frat boys slipping and sliding all over the place in their pyjamas so funny? The Deltas had paid dearly for it but they’d been too happy about their success to care much. Cyrus just wants to be left in peace. He has no desire to be involved.

He likes not having a large group of athletes twice his size out to get him, thank you very much.

“I’m going to find Andi and Walker,” he says, hopping off the counter and grabbing his water bottle. “And get some work done like you guys are meant to be doing.”

Jonah pouts. “Party pooper.”

“One day you’ll join the dark side!” Buffy calls after him as he heads up the stairs.

*

Two days later, Cyrus is practically dancing with joy. He has a date! He, Cyrus Goodman, has a date with the cute guy from his sociology class. This is only what he’s wanted for the past three months now. It had taken him so much flirting to get to this point. He’s getting picked up from the Delta house so the others can give them their opinions as he gets ready, plus the idea of a guy he doesn’t know that well knowing where his crappy little studio apartment is isn’t a very comfortable one. He’ll wait until he knows he’s not an axe murderer to show him his place.

“Just one final touch,” Says Andi as she messes with his hair. He’s been getting ready for an hour and a half. It took most of that time to choose an outfit. He might be a little more than excited about this. “Craig’s not going to know what hit him.”

“Oh wow, Cy,” Jonah says when he re-enters the room. “You look like a movie star.”

Cyrus preens. He’s totally going to blow his date away. It’s going to be the best night ever. They’re going to eat dinner, laugh at each other’s jokes, fall in love and live happily ever after… okay, maybe he’s getting a little ahead of himself, it’s been a while since he dated anyone, so sue him.

“Okay, you’re all ready!” Andi chirps. “When you get back you’re telling us every detail.”

“Obviously,” he says. “Who else would I tell?

His friends congregate around him downstairs when he gets the message from Craig to say he’s almost there. They head out the front with him despite his protests that they don't need to. Buffy insists they have to give this boy a once-over and make sure he’s not going to abduct him. Everyone talks over one another as they give him terrible advice. Cyrus rolls his eyes and lets them chatter. He knows better now than to listen to Jonah’s five-step technique on how to woo a guy (four of those steps involve dancing). All in all, no one’s really paying attention to their surroundings as they go, so maybe that’s why no one clocks the wire pulled tight between the two trees in the front yard.

A lot of things happen all at once. Jonah takes one step forward and goes flying, face first down into a puddle of mud that Cyrus is certain hadn’t been there when he’d arrived earlier. Then the girls let out shrieks of disgust and Cyrus feels himself get hit in the face by an explosion of white sticky foam. Shaving cream. He barely has time to wipe it out of his eyes before he hears a loud “PUFF” and the pitter patter of something light raining down on them.

It’s feathers. Cyrus is covered in shaving cream and feathers and he has no idea what the hell is going on. He splutters.

Jonah groans from where he’s lying in the mud and untangles his foot from a thin plastic string and holds it up. “Tripwire,” he says. “We got booby-trapped.”

That’s when they hear the laughter and look up. The Thetas are gathered in a small crowd on the porch of their house watching and waving, beers in their hands, as the flashes of their camera phones go off.

“That’s for the stink bombs!” One of them yells.

That’s when a sleek black car rolls slowly up to the curb and Cyrus is filled with all kinds of horror. In the madness, he’d momentarily forgotten about his date. God, he must look like an extra in Chicken Run right now. Craig rolls down the window and stares at him. “Cyrus?” he calls.

Cyrus forces himself to walk over. It’s a little impossible to maintain any dignity when you look like a chicken pooped all over you. “I’m… not quite ready,” he says weakly.

“Right…” The look Craig gives him tells Cyrus he won’t be getting to show him his apartment any time soon. “Maybe another time, when you’re… yeah.”

He watches in resignation as Craig rolls up the window and doesn’t make an attempt to stop him from driving away. Of course, this is how the first date he’s had in months would go. Of course, he’d spend an entire day thrilled to be going out with a cute guy only for that to be destroyed by some weird war of the snapbacks. Why wouldn’t he end up stood on a curb covered in shaving foam and feathers watching his date run away? That’s how it goes when you’re Cyrus Goodman. He is a joke in the eyes of nature.

“Cy? You okay?” Buffy asks, coming up and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“We should-”

“I want in,” he says, surprising even himself.

“What?”

“I want in on the pranks. I’m joining the dark side,” he looks at the Thetas, whose numbers are dwindling now the excitement is over. TJ still lingers, arms folded and watching them from the top step of the porch. Cyrus stares him down. “This means war.”

[darquedeath4444]

The Pain We Share

Chapter NINE

Sasori was used to waking up to pain. His soulmate's broken ribs and shattered fingers had long become alarm clocks, and continuous days of simply waking up to someone's footsteps outside or to Hidan's loud cursing after Kakuzu had kicked him out of bed or to the cries of a bird perched right outside his window were dreams for as long as he could remember.

That was no longer the case, though, and Sasori often found his peaceful awakenings paired with the relief that his soulmate wasn't hurting either. It was different, knowing she was out there and having her right there. He had known this, of course, but there was something inexplainable within him whenever he saw her.

They were one of the few people in the world to have come across one another. When that wasn't the cause for stabbing pain every other hour, Sasori found the thought to be surprisingly comforting. She was the one person out there who could understand him to a level others could not, no matter how close they were, and a sick part of him molded by years of working in a profession where death was a constant threat was delighted by the fact that even if he did die somewhere, unnoticed and never to be found, there would be someone who would know how exactly it had happened. Someone who knew what had killed him and how much it had hurt.

Of course, that was if Sakura did not die before him. Sasori looked up from the papers in front of him. Sakura met his gaze like she had been watching him the entire time, and he forced himself to not turn away. "It will just be a few questions," he told her. "If you're uncomfortable answering them, you can say so."

He left out the part where she may be forced to tell him anyways. He knew the Akatsuki were being lenient on her because she was his Soul mate and because she had yet to show signs of hiding anything, but he did not know how long that would last.

If everything were a tad bit more simple, he would be the cop to her criminal. It wasn't, though, and he was a member of an elite force tasked with jobs out of the police's league, while she was an unwilling subordinate to one of the worst criminals of the generation.

Sakura nodded, and Sasori turned back to his papers.

Both of them could die at any moment, both in and out their line of work. He had made a lot of enemies over the years, and he was sure that Sakura could match, perhaps surpass, his own list of people who might want him dead.

"You are a chakra user." It was not a question, but it was the protocol to make sure.

Sakura nodded easily. "Yes."

"From what we've observed, we have come to the conclusion that your abilities are heavily based on using your chakra to enhance yourself," Sasori said. He could remember the black markings on her skin as she healed herself while unconscious, and the chunks of concrete she had gauged out of walls and the craters she had made on the floor when she had attempted an escape after breaking his wrist.

Sakura nodded again.

"Were any of your abilities results of Orochimaru's experiments?"

Sakura shook her head. "Tests ran on me were usually the effectiveness of drugs. My powers were unique; Orochimaru didn't mess with things he considered good enough."

Sasori noted this down. "Your healing abilities allowed you to heal off the effects of the drugs?" He guessed.

Sakura nodded again and Sasori wrote more things down, but his mind felt worryingly blank. "Just a few more questions," he told her.

Sakura nodded once again and sat patiently as Sasori noted down everything she had said. He had no idea why he couldn't have gotten someone to write down what the girl said while he asked the questions. Rr, even better, someone else could have done the whole thing.

Nagato had said the pinkette's cooperation would earn her freedom throughout the base, though, and while Sakura had not been told this, Sasori knew that she would probably open up to him the most regardless.

"Are your abilities based on chakra control?" He asked. "Or is it a mutation?" He suspected the latter, having never seen markings like hers before, but he would make sure.

"A mutation," Sakura confirmed. "Or that was what I was told."

The experiments found in the Northern Base had been dangerous, but that was mainly because they could not be reasoned with anymore. Sasori did not doubt for a second that Orochimaru kept monsters much more powerful closer to himself. He found himself subconsciously looking at Sakura again as this thought crossed his mind. No one knew the full extent of Sakura's abilities just yet, but she had survived in the snake pit. Her strengths may have played a part in keeping her alive, but Orochimaru's investment in her was probably was a large part of it. She'd have to be special for Orochimaru to take an interest, and there was nothing reassuring them that she was the only one. The girl herself had claimed others like her existed, and knowing more about her could help them prepare for coming fights.

After all, there was a high chance not all of them were like the girl sitting before him.

That thought still ringing in his mind, Sasori frowned at the last question. Nagato had said he didn't have to force the girl, and he knew how there was a large chance Sakura would clam up again if he made her too uncomfortable. The others like her had probably been the closest thing to kin, perhaps even friends, that Sakura had under Orochimaru. He remembered how she had shown concern when he had first brought it up weeks ago, and he did not think demanding information about them in what was sugarcoated but was clearly an interrogation would be the best way to go about it.

"That'll be it for now," he said. Then, like an afterthought, added, "Nagato said I can take you around parts of the base," he said. "Do you want to start at the archives? Or the greenhouse?"

Sakura blinked, as though she hadn't expected something like that, but Sasori didn't think it would take her very long to link the two together. He waited while she glanced between his eyes and the floor before she finally opened her mouth again.

"The greenhouse, please," she said. "I remember you telling me about it."

Sasori nodded, remembering as well. "Don't worry," he said reassuringly. "I can take you to the library afterward."

Someone would come to collect his notes later. He held out his hand without a second thought and the pinkette took it without question. He helped her up and led her towards the door.

Sakura appeared the happiest since he had first met her when he had led the girl through the corridors. The collar had remained for security measures but it hadn't appeared to bother her at all as she took quick steps to keep up with his slightly larger stride.

Sasori had known the girl was smart. Her situation may have limited her general understanding of society and deprived her of common sense, but that did not mean she was not knowledgeable. She was able to recognize his collection of plants and displayed a vast understanding of each of their properties. In the archives, she had been quick to recognize the pattern in which their books were stored, and had made a beeline for texts on medicine.

He found it a little ironic that her interest lay in the area of healing when she worked under a man known for his kill count and had probably aided him with it.

Sakura seemed to notice his gaze, or rather, had finally decided to acknowledge it, and she looked up. Sasori shook his head and jerked his head in the direction of her book. The girl continued to look at him for a while longer before she cautiously turned back to the words before her.

The silence continued, interrupted only by the soft sound of pages being turned, and Sasori had finally managed to turn his focus onto the text he was reading when Sakura's voice once again cut through his forced concentration.

"Am I the only one here?"

Sasori paused, thinking he knew what she was asking, but wanting to make sure lest he gave her the wrong information. "What?"

Sakura closed her book and placed her hands on the cover. "I wasn't the only one of Orochimaru's pets in the base," she said. "And yet, it feels like I'm the only one here."

Frankly, Sasori was surprised she hadn't asked all this time. "That's because you are," he told her easily. "The others are being held and treated in hospitals created for this, and manned by people specially trained in the area. The better ones seemed to understand simple words, but they all are too dangerous to allow them to roam free."

"Orochimaru-sama called them the failed experiments," Sakura told him. "They were often left to fend for themselves. Most died and rotted in their cells. The better ones were sometimes sent out as cannon fodder." She frowned. "Is that the reason?"

Sasori hesitated, recalling what many of his friends had told him about her lack of knowledge on Soulmates. Despite what some might give as reasons, he knew this was mostly for him. After all, they could have easily handed her over to someone they trusted, like Jiraiya, and the man could have taken care of her while also protecting her from the likes of Danzo, he was sure.

Fortunately, Sakura seemed to take his silence for confusion. "There was-there should have been another one like me," she said. "A boy, who wasn't like the failed experiments."

At this, Sasori sat up. "Like you?" He asked.

Sakura nodded. "I guess you could call us successful experiments. Masterpieces? I'm usually not stationed at the Northern Hideout; that's the boy's domain."

Sasori did not question the sudden barrage of new information. "What does this boy look like?" He asked; he had read through the reports on the recovered experiments several times and knew he would remember if anything stood out.

"He's tall," Sakura said, standing up and raising her hand to show him. "He has orange hair."

Sasori frowned. Most of the experiments had looked half dead if he were being honest. Even Sakura, in her bloody state, had appeared more alive. After all, one needed to be alive, or at least have been alive until moments ago, in order to bleed. If this boy looked half as alive as the pinkette before him did, he was sure his photo would have caught his eye.

"I don't think he was in the list of victims we recovered," he told her.

Sakura observed him for a moment before she slowly nodded. "I thought so," she said. "If he'd been there, you probably wouldn't have made it out alive."

"I thought you said he was like you," Sasori retorted. "Doesn't that mean not an insane monster?"

"He is like me," Sakura insisted. "He is not a monster, he doesn't want to hurt anyone." Her eyes flashed. "He will, though, if he has to."

Sasori put his book aside altogether. "Why are you telling me all this?" He asked curiously. "You were always willing, I suppose, but you've never really volunteered information."

Sakura copied his action and placed her book on top of his on the table. "Because you can help us," she said. "I feel you can help us."

Sasori met Sakura's green eyes. In fiction novels he sometimes indulged in, characters often saw emotion and resolve in the eyes of others. Sasori didn't really understand that, but he supposed the way she did not flinch away from his gaze or look down at the floor like she usually did conveyed how important this was to her. He stood up and could feel Sakura's gaze on him even when he momentarily looked away to push his chair back.

"You're going to need to tell me more in detail," he said. "And I think Nagato would appreciate the information."

Sakura appeared to sink deeper into her chair, eyebrows drawing in a fraction.

"The Akatsuki aim to shut down Orochimaru completely," Sasori told her. "The Snake will be taken in, and he will face judgment for all the crimes he has committed and all the people he has hurt." He held out his hand. "All his victims will be properly mourned for and all the survivors will be given the best possible care so that they can take back even an ounce of their former lives."

"The Northern Hideout was the first step," Sakura said slowly. "There is more?"

Sasori nodded. "In fact, there is a meeting to discuss our next major move in two days. All the data we've had before, as well as all the information we newly gained after the takedown of the Northern Hideout, will be accounted for. Anything you could tell us will aid us."

Sakura bit her lip and continued to frown for a while longer before her hand shot out to take his with a determination that surprised Sasori. "You must help us," she said. "We-none of us wanted this. We don't want to hurt anyone. We-"

Sasori tugged Sakura to her feet, cutting her off. "I know," he said softly. "I promise to do everything I can. I meant it when I told you no one will hurt you here, and I promise none of us want to hurt your friends."

Sakura's hand felt small in his grasp. The girl stood almost a head shorter than him, and with how close they were she had to look up to meet his gaze. He held it until she nodded. "Okay."

Sasori let go and took a step back. "I don't think Nagato will mind an interruption if it's something like this," he said. When he turned towards the door, Sakura immediately followed

Chapter TEN>

<Chapter EIGHT

Chapter List

[heavenzfiend]

Fanfic: Alone Again (Tokugawa Ieyasu x MC)- SLBP

Read on AO3

Word count: ~4800

Warning: LEMON. Non-con/dubious consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Physical Abuse, Forced Orgasm, Power Play, etc. Don’t read if you’re expecting fluff!

Summary: MC finally seems to be getting closer to the reclusive Lord Motoyasu when Lord Yoshimoto orders them to take each other’s virginity but under his exact instructions. Just how much more control over the boy will it take for him to be satisfied?

Author’s Note: This is a continuation of the Event Story, “Another Story Part 2” for Ieyasu, who is Matsudaira Motoyasu. The first part of the ES really affected me emotionally because of how he was treated by that –insert all the bad words- Yoshimoto but while playing the second part, I got this thought: what if he forces them to sleep together? I can see him doing something like this, just to control more of Ieyasu’s life and to limit more of his freedom, even in terms of love and sex. Anyways, hope you enjoy~

“I’m finished. Thank you for the meal,” Lord Motoyasu says in his usual genial tone.

“I hope you enjoyed what I had prepared for you,” I state, knowing fully well that he did, judging from his empty plates and fast pace of eating.

“I did. I’m grateful as always.”

I clean up the dishes one-by-one with a pleasant smile on my lips as well, happy to know that he is speaking to me with a lot longer phrases as of late. Suddenly, my hands brush against his as they occasionally do when I’m cleaning up. Unlike before when any physical touch made him freeze up, Lord Motoyasu seems to not mind as much nowadays. He allows them to simply slide against each other, my hand feeling the warmth of his for the briefest moments, grateful that he doesn’t pull away in shock or disgust.

I exit the room with almost a skip to my steps, unable to hide the smile plastered to my face. I feel as if I’m finally bringing out the real Lord Motoyasu hidden deep inside his shell molded by Lord Yoshimoto’s rigid control of every fiber of his being. I can’t wait to find out more about him, like what he likes to do if he had free time outside of his reading and archery practice or what he would like to do outside the castle walls if he had a whole day free from his set schedule to do whatever he pleases.

I wonder if one day soon he will even hold my hands. I have to stifle a giggle from escaping. I move down the corridors to the kitchen with my arms heavy, laden with the plate-filled tray, but heart and mind light at peace.

-----------

Just as I’m about to leave the kitchen to retire to my room for the evening, one of the maids accosts me.

“Miss MC, Lord Yoshimoto is asking for you. Please go directly to Lord Motoyasu’s chambers.” I furrow my brows, confusion etched on my face, at her worried tone but the maid quickly leaves after saying that, not giving me any other option but to do as she relayed lest I keep the lord waiting for too long.

As I walk down the corridor my mind is filled with worry at the thought of facing the lord of the castle. A day without having to see him at all is a very good day indeed in my books. Just the thought of him brings a shiver down my back, the purple robes giving a fake illusion of regality when it houses a demon instead.

I announce myself and slide the shoji door slightly after preparing my nerves, noticing that nothing seems to be amiss in the air, notwithstanding the usual awkwardness. This is the first time he has called upon me to Lord Motoyasu’s chambers at this time of night.

I take my usual seat next to Lord Motoyasu, muscles fidgeting from anxiety. I look up to see Lord Yoshimoto smiling at us, his stubby eyebrows reminding me of a chilling ghost from the Heian period.

“I see you still sit so close to dear Motoyasu, how lovely,” his smile growing wider along with my confusion. “You must be wondering why I called you here tonight.” Both Lord Motoyasu and I stare at him to continue.

“As a father-figure to my darling Motoyasu, I want to see all his needs satisfied. You're his chambermaid and if I'm not mistaken you two got quite close lately. You also would do anything to care for Motoyasu, am I right?” he asks with his too perceptive eyes.

“...Of course, Milord.” My heart is pounding so fast in my chest, it threatens to leap out of my body and it almost hurts to breathe.

“Have you laid with a man before?” My eyes grow wide as plates as I stumble for a reply, mortified at the question. I don’t like where this is going but I know I have to answer him.

“N-no...” My cheeks feel warm and eyes nervously fleet around but pointedly avoiding Lord Motoyasu’s general direction. Why, oh why are we talking about this right now?

“Well that's wonderful. You see, my sweet Motoyasu is also a virgin. I think as his chambermaid you should pleasure him and mate with him. How fitting for both of you to have each other's first time,” he says with that sweet, deceiving smile of his that I want to punch right off his face.

Just as Lord Motoyasu finally got comfortable with me, just as we were finally getting closer, Lord Yoshimoto seizes that opportunity to take control of our lives down to the most private matters, dictating when and how we will have sex. I relish our developing friendship and, despite the love I have for Lord Motoyasu, I know things can never be the same after we come together in this sense. I don’t want things to unfold like this, not tonight, not ever, under these circumstances.

“This poor boy has never experienced a woman's touch,” he continues in mock pity. “Don't be troubled about your lack of experience in this matter either. I shall gladly assist you both every step of the way.”

He means to strip the last dignity left on Lord Motoyasu, to let him know that he even dictates when, how and with whom he can have carnal pleasures.

My breath gets caught as if the evil lord shoved a metal ball down my windpipe and constricted my heart by squeezing it in his fist mercilessly, bleeding it out slowly. How crueler can this man get? I'm more worried about the damage this will ultimately do to poor Lord Motoyasu than any physical pain I have to endure by giving my virginity to a man.

“Milord! I… this wasn’t in my job description, surely!” I try to protest rationally but my voice comes out in high-pitched squeaks fueled by my over-wrecked emotions.

“You had consented to look after my boy here and he in return can use you in any way he desires,” turning to Lord Motoyasu, he asks, “and you do desire her, do you not?” His dullish brown eyes search Lord Motoyasu’s.

After a long, excruciating silence, Lord Motoyasu opens his mouth to respond.

“…Lord Yoshimoto, I… I'm not sure if we should…“ Lord Motoyasu’s eyelashes fluttered down with uncertainty, first time showing hesitation to his captor.

Without warning, Lord Yoshimoto slaps Lord Motoyasu across the face so hard that his jaws make a cracking sound as it whips to the side. He suddenly grabs a fistful of his hair, showing no mercy even to such beautiful, golden locks. How can he be so monstrous to something, or someone, that looks so angelic? My heart weeps for him.

“You dare defy me?” Yoshimoto asks, his face an eerie blank sheet, void of emotion.

“Lord Motoyasu!” I can't stand by watching him get hurt, I just can't. If I have to give my body to satisfy one of his whims, I'll do it to save Lord Motoyasu.

I’m kneeling by his body, tears streaming down my face as I beg him to stop. However, my desperate pleas aren't what he's after since the onslaught of abuse continues. Even with the poor boy slumped on the floor, ruthless kicks rain down on him all over his body.

Finally, after what seems to be an eternity, Lord Motoyasu weakly lets out, “Forgive me, Milord… I seemed to have forgotten my place…” and begins to cough up blood on the floor.

“See to it that you don’t forget again. I gave you an order, not a request. Do not forget, both of you belong to me.” He turns to me and adds, “I expect great things from you, young lady.”

I wonder if we can just pretend we did it and call it a night, but somehow I feel like he will find out if we actually did as he said or not. I wonder what he meant by assisting us? It’d be mortifying if he was listening and providing verbal feedback through the shoji screen.

“Make sure to follow all of my instructions. Come in.” He situates himself near the corner and calls out to someone. Suddenly, two maids appear from outside with a sheet of paper, ink and brush, laying it on a desk in front of the seated lord. “You two are dismissed for now but stay behind the door in case I need something.”

“Yes, Milord.” The two maids exit and I see the outline of their figures behind the shoji. Wait, so Lord Yoshimoto will be in the room with us while the maids will be listening right outside? I look around the room like a frightened rabbit caught in a trap, eyes landing on both men and not quite believing what’s going on. I've never even kissed a boy before but now I'm expected to perform the ultimate act of bonding between a man and a woman under the instructions of a sadistic psycho?

Nothing could have prepared me for the nightmare that is tonight.

“Now, first thing’s first. Kiss.”

Lord Motoyasu pushes off the floor with one arm while the other clutches at his sides. He peers at me with those unreadable, reddish eyes. I don’t want him to move any more than necessary so I scoot closer to him and bring my face very, very close to his. I hear him suck in a breath at my audacity but I have my eyes closed in anticipation so I thankfully cannot see his expression, which seeing it would only further my own embarrassment at the absurdity of our current situation.

Seconds pass by when I feel the gentlest brush of lips that jolt my eyes open. Lord Motoyasu’s face is right in front of me, our noses touching as well as our lips. I quickly shut my eyes again, not wanting to stare into the depths of his eyes from such a close proximity. This is way too intimate. My head whirls at the distinct scent of coppery blood assailing me from his mouth.

He continues to press his lips against mine, holding still. When he finally parts, Lord Yoshimoto’s voice echoes in the silent room, “I didn’t say you can stop.” He quickly mashes our lips back together, almost too fast that our teeth collide and I register a slight bit of pain. He hisses through his lips in pain as well, but it’s gone in an instant and he regains composure. I hear a brush gliding against paper from afar.

“Try tilting your face this way and that. Stick your tongue in her mouth.” Lord Motoyasu attempts to follow all the instructions given exactly as is. His mouth covers mine more fully with his head slightly tilted to the side and I feel something really warm and wet wedging between my lips. I part them slightly as to not deny him access but my whole body is tense. Isn’t kissing supposed to be romantic? I can’t imagine anything less romantic than the moment I’m sharing with him right now, with him shoving his tongue down my throat. My mouth feels thoroughly invaded and uncomfortable.

“Young lady, you need to relax.”

Easier said than done! Although behind my eyes I kick his stupid face repeatedly, I take a deep breath and let my shoulders drop, also loosening my jaws in the process. I don’t know when to take a breath and when to swallow. I feel some of my saliva escaping from the corner of my mouth and I quickly mop it up with my sleeves.

Yup, definitely not romantic.

“Strip.” The command comes out from nowhere that I freeze. Our lips make a smooching noise as he extracts himself away, filling the otherwise quiet night.

“Lord Yoshimoto… C-can we turn the light off?” I suggest in an attempt to save my modesty.

“No.” That’s all he says. What did I even expect? Even in the cover of darkness, my modesty will not be salvaged. After this night, the whole castle will come to know of me as Lord Motoyasu’s plaything. A broken marionette. A whore.

Seconds pass by without either of us actually performing the command when the voice from the corner says, “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

We both bashfully look down at our clothes, not wanting to face each other unless absolutely necessary. With trembling hands, I tug at my obi strings and belt, then slide one arm at a time out of my robes. I hear similar rustling of clothes in front of me but I don’t dare look up quite yet. I continue to disrobe all my articles of clothing until they are pooled at my feet and I am standing stark naked in the middle of the room with my hands cupping my private areas in an attempt to hide as much as I can. I know I won’t be able to for too long but just standing there with my hands to my sides is unthinkable.

“My goodness, just look at you two fools just standing there. Go on, touch each other.” Our eyes both look up at the same time and his face and chest are both so red that I would find it quite endearing if we weren’t in this ridiculous situation and I’m not equally as red, but alas that’s not the case. We both hold each other’s eyes not daring to break it lest we see too much of the other person. Never seeing a man’s body before, aside from Yahiko but he doesn’t count since he’s not even a fully grown man, the curiosity and anticipation is killing me but I don’t want to do anything too rash to startle him so I keep my eyes focused solely on his face.

But eventually Lord Motoyasu’s eyes flicker down my body, slowly drifting from my neck, collarbones, my left breast then my right one, each place he looks at burning hotter at the sensation of his eyes. And then he looks at the apex of my thighs and my toes curl at the scrutiny. Despite my hand attempting to cover the general area, I’m sure he can still see the dark hairs peeking through and I just wish I could die at this moment so I don’t have to be subjected to this any longer.

“...Milord, where exactly do you mean by... touch?” The uncertainty in Lord Motoyasu’s voice is followed by a chuckle from the seated lord.

“Wherever you want. All over.”

With the sudden freedom that came with that response, Lord Motoyasu’s eyes slightly widen like a kid at a confectioner’s store and the maroon in his eyes become a shade darker. I don’t think he’s ever touched a girl before so he must be a tad excited. I try to relax and let him do what he wants, chanting to myself, ‘It’s just Lord Motoyasu. It’s just him touching you. You actually like him, so it’ll be okay.’

His hands reach out to tentatively touch my hair, rubbing his thumb and forefinger on some strands, as if he’s amazed how flowy they are. I suppose he’s never got to touch long hair before since Lord Yoshimoto probably has someone cut his hair tidy at a set schedule.

Next, he traces his fingers down my neck, gently wrapping his large hand around my neck. I’m scared for a second, wondering if he will strangle me but he is nothing but gentle in his touches as he ventures onwards. His fingertips ghost at my collarbones and a short gasp escapes me as goosebumps appear all over my body.

His actions stop and I see him looking at my chest.

“...Can I?” He whispers, eyes searching mine. He doesn’t have to ask permission since the lord commanded it but I’m thankful that the sweet Lord Motoyasu still lets me believe I have some semblance of control in all this.

“...Yes,” I breathe out, barely audible.

The warmth in his eyes become even gentler as he puts his whole palms against my breasts. He sucks in a breath as if he can’t believe how they feel as he cups them and squeezes them with his hands. Then he almost studies my body, so different from his own, scratching my nipples to attention first then methodically twisting and pinching the tautness. I wish they weren't so pointy and erect.

Just as I’m about to get lost in the sensations he produces, the unwelcomed demon speaks.

“Bury your face on her breasts and suck on her like you’re her child. Surely it should come naturally to you as you’ve never had a proper mother to suckle from. Imagine there’s milk flowing from her. Drink her up.”

Cruel words from a cruel man.

Lord Motoyasu looks so conflicted that I feel so sorry for him, despite myself being used as well.

I stand up a little straight, attempting to make myself taller so he can get down to snuggle against my bosom. He must see that as an invitation as he nuzzles his face against my soft flesh and then pops a nipple into his mouth. I gasp at the sensation that I’ve never experienced before. It almost feels too much yet not enough at the same time. The feeling of bonding to this person is so strong. I don’t know what happened with his mother but if I can give even a small amount of comfort to his broken soul, I will be more than willing to let him use my body.

I can smell his scent from his hair and as if they are beckoning me to them, I can’t help but run my hands through them. A small, broken noise that almost sounds like a sob comes from him, as he moves his mouth in a sucking motion. My one hand pats his back reassuringly as my other hand gently caresses his hair.

I finally get the chance to fully take in his body and register that he is naked and so close to me. I can feel the muscles and sinew on his lean arms while he holds my sides firmly. His chest and upper body are generally strong-looking, which then lead down to the wisp of a waist. He’s not overly muscular but his daily archery practice definitely defined his shoulders and upper back so that first impressions wouldn’t show how much of an overall sedentary life he leads.

After quite some time passed of him simply being in my arms, we both relax into a steady rhythm, in sync in both breaths and heartbeats.

“Touch her. Make her come.”

I inhale a huge gulp of air which leads to uncontrollable coughing. Lord Motoyasu eases himself away from me as I gain control of my breathing once more.

No! Where does he even get these ideas from? I don't want to show him my pleasure. Just how could he expect me to achieve orgasm in a situation like this, with hatred for him circulating my entire body? He must be thoroughly enjoying this, the sadistic bastard, watching both of us struggling to fulfill his every demand as he showcases his power over us like puppets on strings for his amusement.

“Milord! I can’t possibly!” I nearly shout.

“You will. We have all night.” That scares me, the thought that he probably is being serious, that this could well last the entire night if he so desires. Shouldn’t the lord of the castle have better things to do than observe two young people having sex, against their will might I add?

I wish he would just be satisfied with Lord Motoyasu putting his thing in me so I can crawl back to my room and pretend this night never happened. But I have to do this. I have to do this for Lord Motoyasu’s sake, as well as mine.

Lord Motoyasu inches closer and right before gently pushing me to the ground, discreetly whispers, “...Perhaps you can pretend to achieve satisfaction?” Even before my mind gets to process what those words mean, I hear the amusement.

“Don’t be so daft as to think I don’t know what you’re up to. I will know.”

All hope is lost as I willingly subject to his touch, stiff as a log with my back on the floor and legs stretched out. Lord Motoyasu looks lost as if he has no idea how to ‘make me come.’

Not wanting to be here anymore than necessary, I reach out and take his hand in mine, guiding his middle finger to my slit. I slide it up and down where it easily traverses due to the amount of fluid in the area. His eyes widen and mouth open in fascination at the feeling of a woman’s heat.

I mostly guide him along my clit, where I find the most amount of pleasure based on personal exploration. I focus all my concentration on finding release, desperate to get it over with. I squeeze my eyes shut. If I close my eyes, if I focus solely on the warmth of his touch, the scent of his masculinity and breath close to me it almost feels like we are two normal lovers sharing an intimate moment.

Just when I feel so close, his finger tease at my opening, prompting my eyes to open. And just as unexpectedly, Lord Motoyasu gives me the sweetest kiss on my forehead and the emotional connection pushes me over the edge. I give an uncontrollable cry as my lower body twitches, squeezing his fingers which have found their way inside out of curiosity.

Lost in the throes of passion, I hazily open my eyes but they accidentally land on Lord Yoshimoto, his languid brushstrokes gliding on the parchment, writing whatever cruel words to use against him later, to further humiliate and control his life. It is the equivalent of being doused over the head by an ice bucket as my body goes rigid again despite my inner walls still tingling from release.

The tears well up in me in shame when my body stops convulsing, the feeling of emptiness so consuming that I want to curl up and hide.

“Now, deflower her. But take care not to spill your filthy Matsudaira seeds inside her. We wouldn't want to burden my hospitality even further by having your pathetic, useless spawn here with us to waste my resources, now do we? I'm sure you wouldn't want him to know how stupid and a waste of space his father truly is.”

Lord Motoyasu’s crimson eyes flare in rage, so full of raw emotion normally concealed that it bores into my soul, forever imprinted. However, it was a fleeting emotion, gone just as fast as it arrived.

He clutches my thighs with his strong hands, forcing them apart wider when my instincts naturally attempt to close them together without meaning to. I bring both my hands up to hide my face, unable to see how he must view me now with my legs spread like a frog, such wantonness on display.

With his hands on either side of my hips, he pokes me down there with something hard and warm. I’m too frightened to even look at it so I continue to hide my face behind my hands. He nudges his tip into the wrong hole and I freeze in panic. He begins to push when I scream, “Ahhh! Lord Motoyasu! N-no that's not-!”

Lord Motoyasu embarrassedly apologizes while readjusting and I hear a burst of laughter from the only one who's having a time of their life right now at our expense. Lord Motoyasu continues to struggle to find my entrance, slipping down or poking at the wrong hole again and again.

All of a sudden, I can feel searing warmth as something smooth and thick is finally placed right along my opening, pushing in bit by bit.

I thought I was ready, but nothing could've prepared me for the pure pain that follows the pressure of his body fitting against mine. A strangled noise escapes me as I struggle to keep from writhing, my body desperately fighting to reject the foreign invasion. The impulse to push him away is so great that I have to constantly remind myself to just endure it.

I forgot how to breathe. I'm holding my breath without intending to and my whole body is on edge from tension, abdomen clenched and fingernails indenting deeply into my palms that it might draw blood. I thought it would be okay. I thought as long as it's Lord Motoyasu I would be able to endure the pain willingly. But it just hurts so damn much.

“It hurts… it hurts…” I say through the spurts of breath I manage to exhale while looking up at him. I can feel tiny beads of liquid forming from the corner of my eyes.

How can anyone find this act pleasurable?

“Forgive me… I’ll… be fast...” he says but he soon moves against me like a rabid animal, filling in and out of my hole.

“Ahhhhhh!” I scream into the night, unable to care about the rest of the castle hearing me. The initial shock and pain soon dissipates and is replaced by an achiness. His body seems to move on its own in a fervor.

The constant slap, slap of skin meeting skin, squelch, squelch of fluid meeting fluid fills the air.

It's as if I can feel Lord Motoyasu deep inside me in a place no one else has ever known me, filling me so fully that it feels like I've been empty my whole life without my knowing, waiting to be filled by him.

Am I strange to want this night to end but this intimate moment with him to last longer?

Just as Lord Motoyasu increases the frequency of his pumps and huffs sporadically, a voice sounds from the corner, “Don't come yet.” But it was a cruel command, seeing as his ecstasy was already forthcoming.

In an act of defiance or not enough control, he releases his seeds inside me. I’m unable to tell what it was but I’m happy to have something of his inside me, though not everlasting.

Lord Yoshimoto observes the whole affair with an almost pleased glimmer in his facade, as if everything had gone according to his plans down to the last moments. He patiently waits until we both calmed and then casually walks over to me, throwing my robe at my face where it stings from the slap of the fabric.

“If you can’t even control your own body, how do you expect to control all of Japan, let alone your retainers?” He isn’t even looking at me as he spits venom at Lord Motoyasu’s naked body.

“You think you can get away with not following my directions? How foolish of you.” I'm scrambling to dress, only managing to get my robe draped around my shoulders when his next words sting far more than the physical pain I endured.

“As punishment, it's only fair to take away something important to you, don't you agree?” he grabs my forearms to yank me to my feet and heads to the door with me dragging behind him, half naked with the robes flapping open in the front without an obi to secure it.

“MC will be attending to me as my personal page from now on. Other maids will bring your meals like before her arrival at our castle. You're not permitted to see her anymore.”

A gasp escapes me but I'm being manhandled so forcefully and hastily to the point where I cannot form words of rebuttal as I desperately try to close the robe with one hand without success, mixture of blood and fluids from both our bodies sliding down my legs.

No! I don't want to leave Lord Motoyasu’s side! Just as we were getting closer, Lord Yoshimoto is tearing us apart just like how he did with family and retainers of Matsudaira.

I’ll find a way to see you again, Lord Motoyasu!

I turn my head while being dragged off, desperately trying to catch sight of him. The brief glimpse of Lord Motoyasu that I was able to get will forever be imprinted on my mind— the image of him naked on his knees looking dejectedly down at the floor, covered with both of our blood, and what seemed to be a single tear sliding down his cheek, all alone.

Author’s Note: …Who wants to kill Yoshimoto with me? I was in a confusing state of sad and aroused while writing this… Is that even possible?! Thanks for reading! :) Please let me know what you think!

Tagging: Not sure who to tag... @rubyleeray @pseudofaux @kawa-akarin @dani677 @julias1993

[avengers2k18]

Taken - Spencer Reid

Words - 2301

Requested - None

Description - You are abducted by the unsub, during the team's investigation. 

The team are all sitting around the table listening to Garcia brief them on the latest case. As Garica is talking about the unsub, pictures of the four latest victims pop up on the large tv screen that is mounted on the wall. “These are the four victims so far, they are Nicole Hull, Hailey Soloman, Elle Preston and Carina Barton, all girls were taken from the street at dark,”Garica explains. “All girls look very similar, brown hair, blue eyes, roughly the same height and weight, he’s targeting girls who look similar to someone he knows maybe a passed girlfriend or wife”. Rossi points out, everyone agreeing. Spencer looks at the girls pictures again, he can't help but think about Y/N who all the girls look similar too, a smile forms on his face at the thought of his girlfriend who’s probably sitting on the couch reading a book with a mug of tea in hand since it's Saturday and she doesn't work on the weekends. 

“The bodies were found in different alleyways in the city, all four of the bodies were dressed as if they were from the 40s and all were strangled to death”. Hotch says with a straight face. Hotch stands up and looks at his team, all ready to receive orders, “Morgan and Rossi you to head to the latest crime scene, see what you can find, Prentiss and Reid, go investigate the bodies see if there is any evidence or marks left on the bodies, JJ and I will head to the local Police station and get set up there and talk to the victims families, Garica research the victims and see if there are any connections between the four of them, also try to identify who he's dressing them up as maybe someone for the 40s or 50s”. Everyone nods and heads to the SUV.

“The bodies all have marks on the wrists and ankles which means they were tied down to a chair maybe,” Spencer thinks out loud. “They also all have multiple slashes to the skin” which makes me think he wasn't trying to kill them but torture them by causing intense pain, maybe he was punishing them”. “These women were also sexually assaulted as well”, the doctor states. Spencer and Emily were currently in the morgue analyzing the four victims. “He used his hands to strangle the victims, you can see the imprints of where he pressed down on the neck” Emily states, bending down to have a closer look. “That's odd, the unsub has used some type of weapon to hurt them, he even dressed them up so why would he use his hands on something he potentially created” Spencer says looking slightly confused, “Maybe he got angry, they weren't cooperating and took it out on them”, Emily stands up straight, “let's get this information to Hotch and the team”.

Spencer and Emily are in the SUV heading to the local police station to meet with the rest of the team and discuss what information they all have found. While in the car Spencer decides to text Y/N, can't wait to see you later wanna watch Stark Trek when I get back? x. A few moments pass and his phone vibrate, he looks down at the text, of course, how does chicken sound for dinner? x, he texts back almost immediately, sounds perfect x.

When everyone arrived back, Garica was the first to deliver the information she found, “there weren't any connections between any of the victims besides, their physical features but I did find out who he is dressing them up as and that is  Gene Tierney, she was a famous movie actor in the 40s and she looks just like the victims”. ”So the unsub is dressing them up to look like Gene Tierney but why kill them?” Jj explains. “ It seems like the unsub has an obsession with this woman and it has driven him to try and create his fantasies with them but none of them cooperated and therefore he killed them”, Spencer concluded. “So what you're saying is that this guy won't stop until he has the right girl”? Morgan added.”Unfortunately yes” Spencer sighed. Hotch stands up and grabs the files “lest deliver the profile”. 

“We're looking for a white male in his early 40s to late 50s, this unsub is patient and obsessive, maybe an unemployed local who is antisocial”, Rossi declares as the team stands in front of dozens of police officers. “He is moving his victims around the city unseen, so he has a vehicle, probably an older model, but well-maintained”, Morgan adds. Emily continues “by killing the victims, it is believed that in the unsub's mind, they failed to live up to his expectations and this is their punishment”. “His behaviour says that we might be dealing with someone who suffers from borderline personality disorder and this could be mean that he's creating his fantasies with these women”, Spencer proceeded “he’s looking for white women with brown and blue eyes and he grabs them at night if they are alone that is all thank you”, Hotch finishes the profile and dismisses the officers.

The team all get back to work on the investigation while Spencer pulls out his phone to call Y/N to notify her that he won't be home till late when he sees multiple miss calls from her. Spencer calls her phone but it goes straight to voicemail. He tries not to panic and decides to text her asking whats wrong. Hotch walks over to the team with an angry look, “A woman was just abducted off the streets by a guy in a van, it looks like our guy, Garcia has CCTV”. Hotch leads his team into a room with a large TV screen and Garica holding a remote. “This happened just half an hour ago outside of a grocery store on Lincoln Avenue” Gracia explains, “That's not far from, where the other victims were abducted”, Morgan exclaims. “That is correct hot stuff and this is what we caught”. Gracia presses the remote and the footage starts to play. The footage shows a young woman carrying a bag of groceries and trying to call someone on her phone, while a van slowly pulls up beside her, a man jumps out of the van and pulls her in, then the van drives away. “Garica can you get facial recognition on the victim and the unsub” Hotch demands. “Yes, sir”. Garcia hops on her computer and starts typing away. The team narrow it down by adding the location and age range. “Okay the man goes by the name Stanley Swanson, he's had multiple run-ins with the law, one was sexually assaulting a teenage girl but the charges were dropped and the girl is...omg” “what is it Garcia, Hotch interrogates,Garica faces the others, looking like she just saw a ghost,”Its Y/N”

The room goes silent, “where did he take her?” Spencer asks panic in his voice. “The footage from the other CCTV cameras show it leads to an abandoned mansion on Colonial Drive” “Everyone get ready to leave I'll go tell the chief to get the S.W.A.T team ready”. Hotch states.The team all reassure Reid that they will get to her safely and start load up their guns and put on bulletproof vests. “Don't worry kid, we will get to her, I've been there before just don't lose focus alright,” Morgan said comforting Spencer. “I know it's just we've seen what he did to the other victims, I don't want to lose her too,” Spencer said looking down, eyes glazed with tears, “and we won't, that's a promise”. Jj and Emily meet each other's eye both angry and worried for their friend. The whole team loves Y/N, they know how much you mean to Spencer and how nice and caring you are towards them when you first met the team especially the girls, they had quickly become your new best friends while Hotch, Morgan and Rossi become like brothers you never had, always having a laugh with each of them. The team splits into two SUVs with cop cars following their lead. 

“Please just let me go, I won't tell anyone I swear”, you sobbed tears streaming down your face. What was going to be a night filled with laughter and love turned into a night of terror, fearing for your own life. You were currently strapped in a chair, your wrists and ankles tightly wrapped with rope. Your abductor was currently doing your makeup and hair. “I'm not going to ask you again shut up!”. You sit there in silence scared he will hurt you if you plead anymore. The man stands up and looks at you with a wide creepy smile. “You look perfect, now just for your outfit, and then we are ready for the scene”. The man walks over to the wardrobe and pulls out a black lace nightgown. He walks over back to you, while you are shaking with fear. “calm down you will enjoy this, you have been the best so far you wouldn't want to ruin that would you?”. You nod agreeing with him for the sake of the situation. “If you try anything I will kill you got it?” He demands, spitting in my face. “yes” I say sadly.

He starts to untie my wrists and my ankles leaving me free from restrains, as soon as he's done untieing me I kick him in the crotch and make a bolt for the door only to find it locked. “HELP, SOMEBODY HELP ME” I shout screaming as loud as I can. He hits me on the back of the head, I scream in pain. “You shouldn't have done that”. He grabs both my arms and pins them to the floor, with one hand holding my arms down, the other hand starts to cut open my clothes, leaving me in just my bra and panties. “Stop please”. I sob. He ignores me and puts the lace gown on me. He stands me up and forces me to the bed. I try to fight back but he's too strong. He ties my arms to the headrest atop of the bed tightly so I cant escape. A new level of fear takes over my body as I know whats about to happen next. The man starts to light candles around the room, “What do you want from me” I ask looking right at him. He doesn't stop what he's doing but merely glances and me and says “I want you”. I continue to sob and hope Spencer is able to save me, even though he probably doesn't know where I am. 

My abducter takes off his suit jakcet and shoes and starts to unbutton his shirt while walking over to me. “Do you know how long I have been waiting for you Gene, how many others I had to kill for you? and now it has lead to this”. I start to scream as loud as I can ruining the mood for the abductor. “SHUT UP!” he roars. Having had enough with my screaming, he opens the side drawers and grabs duck tape and seals my mouth. All that can be heard from me is muffled sobs. He climbs on top of me and straddles my waist, “I was going to slice your skin open like I did to the others but I cant ruin your such perfect skin now cant I Gene” He starts to kiss the side of my neck while his hands travel down my waist, when the door is busted open, by Derek Morgan. I cry out In relief. “F.B.I drop your weapon”. The abductor laughs and drops his knife.Just before they arrest him, He leans down and kisses me, Hotch body slams him to the ground. 

Morgan and Rossi untie me from the ropes and they both hug me in relief. After I hug Rossi I see Reid come in alongside Emily and Jj. I meet Spencer in the middle of the room and hug the life out of him, fresh tears running down my cheeks. He hugs me back tightly afraid I will be taken again. He grabs both my cheeks and brings me into a passionate kiss. After the kiss is over Emily comes from behind me and wraps a blanket around my shoulders, I hug her and Jj back, both of my best friends relieved to see me. We all make our way out of the abandoned mansion. After I've been checked over by medics, Spencer never leaving my side. After saying goodbye to the team Spencer and I climb into the backseat of an SUV and are taken back home.

“Y/N I thought I lost you and I wasn't ever going to see you again”. Spencer says with tears in his eyes. “me too” I say honestly with a shaky breath, I really thought I wasn't going to see him again. I shift over the middle seat to sit beside him. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and hugs me to his chest. I cuddle into him and smile warmly. “Get some rest Y/N, you've had a rough night and it is quite a drive back to our house”. I agree and close my eyes. “Thank you for saving me Spencer”, Spencer kisses my forehead “I will always be there to save you”.

[spring-emerald]

For the “send a word and you’ll write a fic one..” the word is cookies :)

I forgot to send you a ship in my last ask lol! But ushimoni

Ahhh… I’m sorry it took me while to get to this. Writer’s block got me beat T_T

This features Yoshihiro-kun! He first appeared here, in case you need a reference. Thank you for your patience my dear!

Moniwa’s jaw drops atthe sight of Ushijima wearing a comfortable Henley, when he opens the door and welcomeshim to their home.

“I’m glad you madeit, Moniwa-san,” Ushijima says with a soft smile, stepping aside to let Moniwain.

It took a few moreturning of his brain gears before Moniwa actually does step inside.

“Ah, yes, thank youfor having me, Ushijima-san.” He bows hastily. “Pardon the intrusion,” hemumbles, taking off his shoes in quite an exaggerated manner as an excuse toavoid looking at Ushijima. His face feels warm as it is, he doesn’t need tospontaneously combust in front of him. He needs to get a grip if he wants tosurvive.

“Moniwa-sensei,you’re here!” Yoshihiro exclaims, head popped out from the doorway of what Moniwaassumes to be the living room. Moniwa gives a huge smile. Before he can sayanything, Yoshihiro’s bouncing up towards him, with arms wide open, that Moniwainstinctively squats down and anticipates the hug.

It surprised him tosay the least, because Yoshihiro-kun doesn’t act this much excited when he’s atthe day care, but Moniwa supposes that it’s because he’s at his mostcomfortable place- his home.

Yoshihiro lets himgo, but takes his hand. “Come on, Moniwa-sensei. Let’s make some cookies!” Hepulls at Moniwa’s hand with both of his own.

Moniwa laughs at howcute his student is. “Alright. Lead the way then,” he says, standing up andlets himself be pulled, but not before glancing at Ushijima, who’s watchingthem fondly. He catches Moniwa’s eyes, and the small smile he has gets wider,crinkling the sides of his eyes in the process.

Moniwa ducks hishead, feeling the blush return in full force. Even after few dates, he stilldoesn’t know what to make of Ushijima, and what to make of their buddingrelationship. They’re still just on the ‘going on dates’ stage, and he’s reallyenjoying himself, especially Ushijima’s company. He thinks the other man alsofeels the same, because he still keeps on asking Moniwa out, whenever he’sfree.

But he still hasn’tasked Moniwa about being, well, boyfriends, or something. Moniwa doesn’t wantto assume, and he doesn’t have the courage to ask him first either, so now, hefeels that they’re quite stuck in an impasse, so to speak.

Not that it bothershim.

Well, maybe just alittle, but it’s not exactly a big deal. It’s just that he wasn’t expecting tobe invited to their home, this early in their dating. He’s fully aware thathe’s not here for a meet and greet session or anything like that, since it’smore like a “Yoshihiro wants to bake some cookies for Onee-sama, but we bothdon’t know how to bake, so it would really be a big help if you could come overand help us” kind of thing.

Which… gives Moniwa abit of clarity actually, about this whole situation.

Of course,Yoshihiro-kun is technically the reason why he’s here. And if he thinks aboutthat, thinks that this is just some sort of a home visit to one his students,and not a home visit to the person he’s currently dating, it puts things in adifferent perspective. This little excursion is nothing to get nervous orblushy about.

But why did Ushijimahave to wear Henley and look so good while he’s at it?

His musings werebroken when Yoshihiro offers him an apron, which he takes with a gracious smileand soft thanks. Yoshihiro then turns around. “Can you please help me tie theapron, Moniwa-sensei?”

When Moniwa comes upfrom tying the apron, he sees Ushijima’s done pushing a stool in front of thecounter and Yoshihiro takes his place there, bouncing on the balls of his feet,eager to get started. Moniwa’s also surprised that all the ingredients theyneed are placed rather neatly on top of the counter. Both Ushijima andYoshihiro, waiting for him to don the apron, so they could begin.

He hastily puts iton, then takes his place Yoshihiro’s other side, taking the tablet Ushijima isoffering. He looks down and reads that it’s the simple recipe Ushijima musthave pulled up, as reference of what they’re going to do today.

“Alright,Yoshihiro-kun and I will start with this,” Moniwa says, pulling a large bowl,the flour, baking soda, and salt, closer to him and Yoshihiro. “WhileUshijima-san can get the butter, and sugars mixed, using the mixer?” He casts aquestioning look at Ushijima, who in turn nods and sets up his tool andingredients.

Moniwa puts thetablet in the middle, so both of them could see the rest of the instructions,but focused on helping Yoshihiro figure out the measurements, and letting theboy put in in the large bowl. The boy is definitely an easy student, able tofollow his instructions really well, and he finds himself whisking theingredients all together.

Moniwa takes thistime to check how Ushijima is doing. The taller man is leaning closer to thecounter, an egg in hand, clearly reading the instructions. Then he standsstraight and proceeds to crack the egg on the edge of the mixing bowl and dropit in. He did this twice.

It’s then Moniwarealized that the sleeves of his Henley is pulled up on his elbows, showing offhis impressive forearms. And because that wasn’t enough, he actually hadcracked the egg using only one hand.

Moniwa feels kind ofthirsty. Never did he think seeing someone crack an egg one handed would besuch a turn on for him, but apparently, it is.

Ushijima lifts hishead and Moniwa almost gives himself a whiplash with how quick he turned hishead just to avoid being caught staring.

“Is this enough- whyis your face red, sensei?” Yoshihiro, bless his soul, is looking up at him.

Moniwa almost, almosttopples the bowl the child is holding, in surprise. “It’s nothing,Yoshihiro-kun. Just feeling a little…warm.” He says, making a show of fanninghimself, while biting the inside of his cheeks, quite hard it almost broke skin.“Anyway, let’s put in the mixer.”

Thankfully, the restof the mixing and scooping went with little fanfare. They are just waiting nowfor the second batch to finish baking, while the first one cools off on thecounter. Yoshihiro has taken to sitting on the stool he stood up on, and sits afew steps away from the oven. He’s watching the cookies rise and bake withutmost fascination.

Ushijima is washingthe materials they used, while Moniwa helps him out by sealing the excessingredients and putting them back to their respective cabinets, with Ushijima’sguidance.

The last thing heneeds to put back is the bag of flour, but it’s located on the topmost shelf,which Moniwa has difficulty of reaching at the moment. He could do it with thehelp of a stool, but he doesn’t want to bother Yoshihiro. So, he’s pushing thebag of flour up, with his two hands, trying to reach the shelf on his tippytoes, hoping that once the bag reaches the edge of the shelf, he can just pushit back.

Moniwa’s breathinghitches when he feels solid warmth on his back, and large hands cover his, helpinghim push the said bag of flour. It calls his attention to the beautifulforearms, quite straining at the action, and he feels his face warm up atUshijima’s proximity. The flour is effortlessly returned to the shelf, but hedoesn’t rest his feet flat, because he’s sure that if he does so, his back willmeet Ushijima’s chest. And what with all the close calls they’ve had today (andsome inappropriate thoughts he had to whisk away), this one is definitely goingto let all his efforts go down the drain.

Moniwa pulls hishands down and away from Ushijima’s hold and keeps it close to his chest, wherehe can feel his heart hammering.

“Th-thank you,Ushijima-san,” he stammers.

Instead of steppingaway, like Moniwa hopes, Ushijima brings his hand down and lets it rest onMoniwa’s hips. Moniwa squeaks in surprise, forgetting his tippy toes, he landson his feet abruptly and collides with Ushijima’s well-muscled chest.

“Are you alright?”Ushijima’s voice is sounds closer than Moniwa thinks and he’s afraid to turnhis head. He nods furiously, not trusting himself to speak, lest he onlysqueals out unintelligible noises.

But Ushijima doesn’tlet go and wraps his arms around Moniwa’s waist and Moniwa feels a soft pair oflips on his awfully warm cheeks.

“Thank you forhelping us today,” Ushijima says softly, his low voice caressing the shell ofMoniwa’s ear.

This is too much forMoniwa’s heart and sanity. Ushijima’s overwhelming physical affection issomething he never actually expected from the man, but damn if it’s not makingMoniwa feel like a flutter of butterflies had taken residence in his stomach.

Before he can reply and probably do somethingstupid like turning his head to the side to meet Ushijima’s lips and kiss himsoundly, the oven dings.

[serenephenix]

CUPS - Day 6: Poison

One of the whumpweek fics I managed to repair and finish.

This is also a tribute to an irl person who is one of the sturdiest and most reliable people I know and whom I admire very much for it. One of the only people I know who could safely drive anyone home with a raging fever through sheer power of will.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

CUPS

[Fandom]:Voltron: Legendary Defender

[Rating]: Teen Audience/ Gen

[Genre]: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Poisoning

[Warnings]:mentions of drug use (medical purpose), character willingly poisoning themselves

[Word count]: 4.400

[Status]: completed

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ümyt’mar Kezar – that was its scientific name in the Altean language. A name that not many knew by heart. It was no wonder seeing as its other, much more sensational designations, were far easier to remember. Sweet Death. Last Pleasure. Altean Deathbringer.

Coran could still hear himself asking his grandfather about that last one. And despite the time and his lack of presence, he could almost pretend to hear the throaty chuckle as the man paused his work, staring at his grandson with barely hidden seriousness.

“It smells like Nunvil. It tastes like Nunvil. But don’t be fooled little Miürl, one sip is enough to kill a grown Altean.”

Coran knew his child-self had gasped in horror. He might have even clapped his tiny hands over his gaping mouth for dramatic effect. No wonder! After all, he had believed that once the liquid ran past ones lips they would drop dead. It was only later that he would find out that not to be the case.

Sweet Death was a very misleading name. It concealed all of the ugly and very messy symptoms that would precede the slow march towards death after its consumption, the rich taste of it notwithstanding.

It was a slow, agonizing way of dying and of such an insipid and elusive nature that for a long time, none could tell what had caused it.

The first quintant would be uneventful, whatever Altean unlucky or foolish enough to drink it not noticing that slowly, their body was breaking down.

By the second quintant, there would be pains racking through ones extremities, pins and pricks and needles strong and painful enough to make even the strongest Alteans cry out for their mothers.

On the third quintant would come shortness of breath not aided by the searing pain paralyzing one’s limbs completely.

On the fourth, he body would uselessly try to remedy the situation, the healing and breaking down of cell’s taking place so fast that it would not only cause agonizing pain and loss of one’s bodily functions but also for the body’s core temperature to rise.

And if, by the fifth quintant, no antidote was administered, whatever poor soul had been so cruelly punished by fate would be doomed to fight this useless fight until their body and soul gave out or someone was merciful enough to put them out of their misery.

Coran had seen the medical recordings as part of his training as a royal advisor, to ensure he could recognize the symptoms and give the appropriate treatment. The direct, graphic confrontation with that horror had been awful when he had been but a young man and he had thanked the Ancients that never in his long career did he have to apply this knowledge to the royal family.

But never would he have thought that one day he would have to willingly to poison himself with one of the substances most deadly to his species.

The Ilar people did not know, could not know after ten millennia of the Alteans gone.

And Coran could not deny the cup offered to him unless he wished to put this whole diplomatic mission in jeopardy. There was no way he could have foreseen this substance to become an integral part of these people’s culture – venerated as a cleansing and purifying beverage fit for their spiritual leaders and, as it now seemed, powerful allies in the fight against the Galra.

Coran knew the risks and knew he had to take them.

He was alone on this mission, a mission Allura had considered a top priority and whose window of opportunity narrowed with every quintant as the times of change for the Ilar people’s way of life drew close to its end.

And with Voltron receiving a distress signal at the very last moment, Allura and Coran had come to the conclusion that they only could gain a considerably powerful ally, if he were to remain and further negotiate.

It was ironic that under the notion of ‘mission accomplished’ fell the ingestion of a poison that promised death.

But all Coran could think about as he let the fruity taste settle in his mouth, was that he was thankful and relieved the princess had not been there to see this mission through.

The leader’s head inclined, the wooden beads and twinkling mineral ornaments following the motion. Coran copied them, his insides feeling knotted and twisted already, despite him knowing it was just anxiety.

The leader’s voice burbled as the single orifice on its head opened: “To a long and prosperous partnership.”

“Yes, to a long and prosperous partnership.”

-

Coran had retreated to the chambers provided for him by the Ilar. It was all he could do to prevent the first signs of his own anxiety and worry showing as his hand strayed back to his breast pocket where his communication device was hidden.

Once again he pressed the button.

“This is Coran speaking. The mission has been a success. If you can hear me: I require immediate extraction from Planet K’far.”

He waited patiently, impatiently, but there came no answer.

Coran took a shaky breath, his chest constricting, making it impossible to draw all of the air he needed. Finally, he allowed himself to sit down when he noticed himself shaking too hard to remain safely standing.

It had been merely six vargas and already he felt unease coloring his every action and word. He wished he could brush it off easily but it revealed itself to be impossible.

One of the most fatal poisons known to his kind was coursing through his veins and without the team reporting back it was impossible to tell when he would be able to take the antidote that currently could only be found on the Castleship. Or at least, that was the only place Coran knew with certainty he could get the antidote from.

He had already tried to inquire about the components needed to brew the counteragent but it soon became clear that more than half of the ingredients were not to be found on this planet.

He could only hope and pray that nothing had happened to the princess and the Paladins. More than anything, he wished to spare them to have to see him in agony he knew he could not escape or trivialize – not with the dosage he had been forced to take.

After waiting for another varga, Coran resigned himself and called for the young Ilar entrusted with the task of providing him with everything he might need during his stay.

He was thankful that no questions and judgements came with the growing list of items Coran requested.

Hopefully, the others would be back by the third quintant, otherwise no amount of medicinal herb would be able to conceal the severity of his current condition.

-

It had been almost thirty vargas and precisely three hailings later that Coran was beginning to despair.

The first symptoms were leaving ghost sensations on his skin, agitating him, bothering him. For now, the fumes from the herbs he had lit on a small dish were numbing his senses and making it slightly more bearable, keeping the pain at bay. Yet, Coran was reluctant to add more. As much of a relief as it was, this drug also slowed down his mind and he could not allow that. He had to remain lucid, lest his princess notice anything was wrong upon his return.

If Allura came to the conclusion that her advisor had been poisoned out of malicious intent instead of ignorance as was the case, Coran knew that any treaty would become nonessential, no matter how vital or hard earned.

And besides, these young people were already burdened enough by their duties, adding to their worries was the last thing Coran wanted.

He took another deep breath as he sat with his eyes closed when he picked up the beep of his communicator.

It took two tries for his hand to grasp the small object while making himself more presentable, slicking back strands of hair and righting his collar.

The princess’ face was drawn into a tight expression both from fatigue and the battle they had obviously just fought but the smile and satisfied glint in her eyes were enough to spare him any worries for her or the Paladins’ wellbeing.

“Coran. I heard the mission was a success?”

As she spoke, Coran watched as his princess as a whole perked up, standing straighter, more confident and he knew that no matter how miserable he might be feeling, he would anything to ensure that such a relieved expression would grace her face for as long as possible.

“Of course, Princess.” He pulled at his collar, throwing his head back a little in an exaggerated but good humored show of affront. Anything to cover up how warm and suffocated he was beginning to feel. “But I’m afraid that I might have eaten something that upset my stomach, so I would be glad if you could come and pick me up. I’d… rather not leave a mess.”

At least not more of a mess he had already made but that was something no one needed to be made aware of.

His chest clamped when she looked at him critically through the screen.

“Are you alright? You do look a little pale.”

“I promise, nothing to worry yourself about.”

Allura hummed, looking unconvinced. Much to Coran’s relief, she dropped the subject, both in favor of complying to his wish and because of the Paladins having entered the bridge, their loud chatter announcing their arrival.

“Is it Coran?” The shout was followed by feet running towards the screen and soon enough all of the Paladins were smiling at him. They were disheveled and out of breath but it was good to see them all unscathed and in such good spirits.

He couldn’t have fought his own smile even if he had wanted to.

“I see that you were victorious in battle.”

“Yeah, forming Voltron is a real piece of cake.”

It was heartening to see the Yellow Paladin so enthusiastic about his duty when not so long ago, Coran remembered him to be the most reluctant to accept this mission.

“Oh Hunk, stop talking about food! I’m starving.”

Coran laughed as the other Paladins chimed in with Lance’s complaint – it was clear that they’d had a long quintant. But so had he.

“We will come and pick you up within a varga.”

The words could have brought a lesser man to tears but Coran had decided that if he could he would spare them to see him falter.

-

He was nowhere near as subtle as he had believed himself to be.

The first ones to notice were, unsurprisingly enough, the princess and the Blue Paladin, inquiring about his wellbeing. It had somewhat surprised him when the Red Paladin put in his two GACs.

“Your hands are shaking.”

It had made all of them turn to the young man slouching in his seat, his dark eyes taking him in critically.

Coran clasped his hands together in his lap for good measure, doing his hardest at smiling amicably and without a hint of the nervousness that had come to crash into him like a Thregorian Snuffhorn.

“I have to admit that, while not as tiring as yours, this mission has left me in need of a good night’s rest. Something I am sure all of you require.”

He jumped to his feet and promptly found himself plopping back down into his seat as vertigo made it hard to distinguish between up and down.

Instantly, he was flanked from all sides, worried voices and concerned faces swarming him, almost overwhelming and sudden panic gripped at his chest: this was what he had wished to prevent. He could not, and he would not, let a small bout of dizziness ruin his carefully crafted lie.

“Whoops, guess that ceremonial tea really was a bit too strong for me.”

Lance’s eyebrow rose critically as he shared a look with his friends and finally with the Princess.

“Does tea do that to Alteans?”

There was a fine line appearing on Allura’s brow, her eyes narrowed in obvious consternation and concern.

“Not.. not usually.” Her voice was so hesitant. She turned to him, sitting close enough that Coran she might feel the heat coming off of him, the heat that was unbearable by now and that he was fairly certain he could not explain away without outright lying into her face.

It was sad that, in this moment, he was truly considering that option just to spare, o spare them all.

“Coran,” and oh, how it hurt to see her so full of worry, when it was his duty to take those off of her young shoulders. What would Alfor say? What his grandfather?

Allura’s voice, quiet but ever insistent, brought him back to the present. He had to be careful, he could not let himself drift like this.

“Yes, Princess?”

She was searching his face, his eyes. “Coran, tell me, did something happen on that planet?”

Never had he been more relieved about the fact that his uniform comprised thick gloves, as Allura took one of his hands into both of hers.

He shook his head, regretting the action as his field of vision did not instantly adjust, leaving him woozy and disoriented but from the last reserves of strength he dredged up a smile for her, for all of the Paladins that looked so scared and pale.

“I assure you, I am just tired.” He answered, addressing not just the princess but the Paladins as well, “If you’d allow me, I would like to return to my quarters for the night to rest up. I assure you that by tomorrow I will as good as new.”

He was thankful when his smile was returned and Allura finally let go, all of the youngsters letting the tension fall away from their weary frames.

Coran was sure to take short sips from his tea, shooing every single one of them out and wishing them a good night as they retreated to their respective rooms.

It proved to have been the right plan when it took him a total of three tries to get to his feet, two of which had him ending up a shivering mess on the floor.

He could not let them see him like this.

-

The walk to the ship’s medical facility was an agonizingly slow process. A process requiring Coran stop every few steps to catch his breath, regain his footing and bite back cries of pain as the symptoms of the second stage threatened to overwhelm his senses.

Even with the support gained from the railing and the walls, the stumbling walk to his destination became more of a dangerous and tricky endeavor than he had initially anticipated.

It was foolish to take the stairs in his state but he did not wish to take any chances of encountering one of the Paladins. He knew Shiro roamed the corridors most nights and usually used the elevators to get to the training deck.

The moment his hand landed on the panel opening the door to the storage for the medical supplies, he almost cried in relief.

Retrieving the antidote was not the most taxing part – something he realized to his ever-growing dismay when his hands would not stop shaking violently, when he could not grasp the delicate pipette to administer the exact amount of antidote he needed, his fingers cramping and spasming.

He let out a frustrated huff, dropping the equipment in favor of balling his hands into fists but refrained from any further action he might regret. He had to remain calm.

But he did not know how.

He could feel with every tick slipping by that the effects of the herbs were abating, leaving him to feel the severity of his current condition. His chest seized up with sudden terror that, before, had been dulled by the fumes in that room on K’far.

He unclenched his aching fingers to instead support himself on the table where the supplies still lay for him to simply grasp and use.

But he just couldn’t. He was shaking too hard with pain and sudden dread he could not control, could not even comprehend the origin of.

He closed his eyes, commanding himself to take deep and measured breaths, counting each and every single tick, so that it took the same amount of time to take one breath in, hold it and let out, and repeat that process for as long as necessary. As long as it took him to be rational and functioning again.

He had no idea, no way of truly measuring how long he stood, frozen in place, in the dark, to ground himself again.

And even afterwards he was still in pain, he was still trembling and miserable.

But at least he managed to steady his hands. At least he managed to fill the small glass with the perfect amount of milky, flaked liquid that he needed. At least he had enough presence of mind to put everything back in its designated place, erasing all traces of what he had truly been up to.

But try as he might, what he couldn’t do was get his feet to cooperate to take him back to his room.

He cast a contemplative look at the bare, uninviting cot to his left before deciding that maybe just a few vargas of rest might suffice for him to regain his strength and his bearings.

He laid down, his limbs protesting and aching, shivering in the coldness of the room and from the lack of a blanket and fell into a restless sleep.

-

He knew he was dreaming because these fields of flowers would never bloom again. That was not to say that Coran would not enjoy it while it lasted, breathing in deeply, drinking in the sweet fragrance of Juniberrys in full bloom.

He allowed himself to just lie there, unperturbed, at ease, weightless.

The light of day warmed his skin comfortably -a reprieve from the cold that had encompassed him while his body struggled against the effects of the poison.

He closed his eyes, at peace for the moment, and did not even open them at the sensation of gentle fingers carding through his hair.

It could have been Alfor, it could have been Szep… It did not matter. Not now at least.

Not ever again, sadly.

The thought of it did not stop him from falling back into the void of sweet and dreamless sleep.

-

When Coran woke, it was a slow and tedious process, the first thing on his mind the question how many vargas it had been.

It was hard to tell. His body felt compelled to make him believe it was far from enough, his mind all the while insistent on arguing that it must have been far too long.

With a sigh he decided to see for himself, blinking open his eyes, the ceiling blurring into focus slowly.

He could feel his brows scrunching up when he recognized the ceiling as the one of his personal quarters.

Strange… very strange indeed.

He had no recollection of having awoken and returning to his chambers.

He seized up at the sound of rustling clothes, his head snapping to the side, his eyes widening at the sight of the Princess and Paladins before darkness consumed his vision.

Fighting his hand out of the many layers of blankets he found himself trapped under, he was surprised for the offending item to reveal itself to be a drenched cloth.

For that matter, he was astonished to find he was no longer wearing his gloves, confirming his suspicion that someone must have changed him out of his uniform while he had been unconscious.

Blinking, he put the cloth next to his pillow, flinching when tiny squeaks immediately followed the action. If his awakening in his quarters already came as a surprise, then the discovery of the mice having rested next to his head did even more so.

The sound of the small rodents alerted the other occupants of the room and Coran found it fascinating to watch as six different, disheveled-looking heads popped into his field of vision, bleary eyes and scrunched up faces instantly focusing on him.

“Coran!”

He was not prepared for the outbursts, for the cries of joy and unbridled relief, for the sudden hugs and smiles and distantly Coran realized that he was somewhat overwhelmed, although in a good way. In the best most certainly.

They were quick to retreat, to give him space when Allura sat herself on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly with her added weight.

Her smile was no less relieved than the others’ but owed to the many years Coran had spent caring for and looking after her he could see the disquiet tugging at the edges of her mouth and he felt regret and shame flooding his insides.

All of his efforts and yet he done nothing but cause them grief and trouble.

Despite protest from all sides, he sat up, the blankets falling away to reveal he was in a wide shirt he did not recognize one of his own.

Interesting.

Interesting was also the fact just how winded that simply action left him. Maybe the poison had caused more damage than he had estimated. It had been a worrying amount he had consumed.

Putting that matter aside for now, he gave everyone a bright smile he hoped would be well-received.

“Thank you.”

What he had not counted for though, was how obliterated his voice sounded; making everyone wince and his hand fly to his throat in pure shock. There was no damage he could feel from the outside, so it had to be the poison.

“Yes,” Allura said, shoulders hunched in sympathy and smile strained, “I imagine that for the time being it would be wise to rest your voice. The last quintant was… unkind on you.”

He could feel his eyebrows shoot up. A quintant. He had slept through a whole quintant?

His expression must have been an open book to read, for Allura regarded him pensively before asking: “Coran, do you remember what happened?”

He cleared his throat: “I am sorry to say no, Princess. Although I am probably right in assuming that your bringing me to my chambers was a group effort?”

Number 2, Hunk, harrumphed; throwing him a critical and very unamused look.

“Yeah, actually, nope that was all me.” Before Coran even came close to voicing his thanks, the young man went on, shaking his head. “Do you know how scary it is to get into a medbay, to get something to settle your stomach, and it’s dark and supposed to be deserted only to hear moans? Spoilers: it’s way too scary for one person.”

He had a little trouble processing the undoubtedly Earthen slang but Coran had no problems understanding what Hunk was implying. He felt ashamed.

“I’m sorry, dear boy-“

“Ah-papapupuh!” Lance was quick to shush him, doing that strange thing with his hand Coran had already witnessed him doing with Keith. His face spoke volumes, disapproval written across his forehead. “None of that. It’s a good thing Hunk fond you, you know.”

It was so strange how swiftly his voice could turn from loud and stern to quiet and small. And the worst was that it was because Coran had been careless.

“You had a really high fever.” He glanced at their number 5, Pidge, who was adjusting her glasses, brown eyes not once leaving his. What exactly it was they were trying to find, was impossible for him to piece together.

The poison had, without a doubt, taken a far greater toll on him than he would have wanted to admit, if the exhaustion tugging at his limbs was any indication. The weariness underlining smiles and bags under drooping eyes also told a story Coran knew by heart.

It was what made his moustache quiver a little but he was not yet far gone enough to cause them further distress, inclining his head in a gesture of gratitude.

“Thank you for your consideration and care. I admit that I did not feel was well as I wished myself to believe but rest assured I took all the necessary precautions. I am sure you must be exhausted. You can go now. I am sure that after a few hours I shall be able to attend to my duties.”

He did his best to come across as alert and lively, in hopes of calming and reassuring them. He was rather taken aback by the blank looks thrown at him before the Paladins turned to Allura almost as one.

“You were right. He is too stubborn for his own good.”

Despite his loud protest, it was almost impossible to resent Shiro for his comment when it elicited a genuine smile from the Princess and soon enough laughter from all of the other young people.

He looked back at those dark eyes, filled more understanding than suited such a young face, and warmth spread through his every limb as every single one of these incredible youngsters proclaimed to want to stay just a little longer, Hunk assuring he could arrange having lunch ready soon in the kitchenette.

It was a little frightening but heart-warming how thoroughly these people, who had been naught but strangers to him and Allura, were slowly but surely worming their way into Coran’s heart.

They were not the Paladins of old, the individuals he had befriended and grown up with or grown close to over time. Not the independent warriors and leaders of different worlds.

They were young and inexperienced. Reckless and cheekier than a pack of Kwirltels. They were in need of guidance and care.

But as he rested against the headboard, watching them chatter and smile, talking to him and Allura, playing with the mice, and discussing what best way to reproduce some sort of traditional dish from Earth for him…

Maybe, just maybe, he could allow them to take care of him. Only until he was back on his feet.

And then he could stand tall again and be their pillar of strength.

[icecubelotr44]

Storybrooke has Fallen (3/?)

Summary:   Based entirely too closely on the movie Olympus Has Fallen. Secret Service agent Killian Jones has always taken his job seriously - perhaps a little too seriously if his supervisor were to have her say. But when terrorists attack the White House with Emma and her son inside, Jones will stop at nothing to find them and get them to safety.

Rated:  T, for violence, kidnapping, some dark themes

This is for the elusive @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable on the occasion of her birth.  Which occasion, I won’t tell you, but suffice to say, she’s a few days younger than me.  Also, tagging @killian-whump​​, @xhookswenchx, and @cocohook38​.  Adding in @eala-captian​, @snowbellewells, @jsilva0117, and anyone else who’d like to be tagged.

Word count:  ~ 4,600

From the beginning: ao3 / ffn

Current Chapter: AO3 / FFN

“Mr. Gold,” the terrorist barked, interrupting the staredown Emma had been sure she was winning with the former member of her protection detail.  “Who is this man?”

He said something else in Korean, but she didn’t pay any attention to it.  The last few moments were playing on a dizzying, endless loop in her head.

Henry.

Cerberus.

Leroy.

Henry.

Gold’s betrayal.

They wanted Henry!

She and David had the other two codes.

Henry was out there.

She couldn’t watch them kill David any more than she could Leroy.

But David might not listen to her orders if he thought it would protect her.

Henry was alone in the White House and there were armed men searching for her little boy.

She needed-

“Killian Jones,” Gold said incredulously.

Was he a God damned mind-reader now, too?

“And who might that be?”

Gold scoffed.  “He used to guard the President until he got cocky.  Lost the First Husband and got himself reassigned to a desk.”

Emma’s heart clenched a little bit.  She had done that to him, and now she was hoping and praying that Killian was going to forget about that and save her son.  And maybe her, too.  She didn’t really have to think too hard about that one.  Of course he was there, and of course he was going to rescue Henry.  That’s what he did.  He was a damned bonafide knight in shining (standard issue body-) armor hero, and she had been blinded by her grief when she tore out his heart and stomped on it.

She’d never even thanked him for saving her life that night.  For watching Henry when she couldn’t even manage breathing without collapsing in a puddle of uselessness.  For standing at attention when she tore him apart for doing his damned job, and doing it well.  Emma should have pinned a medal on his chest and made sure the entire world knew how good of a man he was.

Instead, she’d made him feel worthless and ignored his very existence for the past year and a half, despite Henry begging her to reinstate him.

She needed to survive this if only to apologize to them both.

“Are we worried about him?” the terrorists’ leader asked Gold.

“Not at all.”

Emma wanted to fall out of her chair laughing.  “You should be,” was all she muttered under her breath.

Hades nodded towards Gold.  “Go.  Find him.  End him.”

There was a moment where Gold looked hesitant, but then nodded and left the bunker.  Emma paled at the implication - Killian wouldn’t know that Gold was a threat, he might even trust the man to watch his back as he led him right to Henry.

No, she thought.  Killian was smarter than that.  He’d figure Gold out even more quickly than Emma had.  He and Henry would be safe.

And Gold wouldn’t be a threat much longer.

There was a woman at Cerberus’ computer, typing more quickly than Emma could follow, but it didn’t seem to be doing any damage - yet.  Still, she watched as fingers flew over the keyboard, praying endlessly for something to happen.

And then she was manhandled back to David’s side and left there to wonder what would happen next.

She didn’t have long to wait.

Killian didn’t have to think too hard about where he should start looking for Henry.  If the boy wasn’t hiding in his mother’s room, he would be in his own or in one of the spots Killian had shown him for just such a situation.  Not that he’d ever dreamed Henry would be in danger like this, but he hadn’t survived war and the last few minutes - hours? - by not being overly prepared for every situation.

It was eerily quiet in the halls, his own footsteps echoing loudly in his ears and making his blood pressure skyrocket.  Every foreign sound drew his attention, every odd shadow and stray flash of light inspected lest he be caught unaware.  There were bodies littering the hallways even here, men and women that he knew as well as strangers who had been caught in the building.  So much senseless death that needed to be atoned for, that he needed to ignore so he could focus on the mission.

Believer.

Henry’s designation, and the only person who mattered at the moment.

Killian ducked into a computer lab, logging on efficiently with one hand aiming his weapon on the door.  He shut down the surveillance cameras while he had the opportunity, not wanting the terrorists to follow him right to the First Son.

He’d never forgive himself for that.

Moving on, Killian took the stairs two at a time, senses thrown outwards and subconsciously monitoring the changes that had been made by the insurgents - the power was off, the air vents were clearly shut down, there were lasers across the windows attached to C4 blocks, no one moved through the halls.

It was exactly how he’d plot to take down the building, how he’d cause exactly this kind of chaos if it were up to him.

Killian shuddered thinking about who could have done this.

Finally entering the residential area of the White House, he slowed down and cleared each room.  So many guest quarters and lounges and offices, he’d known, had studied it, but had never really understood just how many places someone could hide here - even if they didn’t know the layout as well as he and Henry did.

As expected, the boy wasn’t in any of the rooms he cursorily searched.  Not that Killian was surprised, Henry was smarter than that.

And also only a kid.

He was scared, he was alone, and he’d want the familiar.

He’d want his mom.

Killian finally ducked into Henry’s room, searching under the bed and in the closet, behind curtains and between the dresser and the television stand.

He wasn’t there.

Nor was he in Emma’s bedroom, though Killian checked this even more thoroughly, assuming the boy would have come here.

Where was Henry?

He moved back out into the hall, letting his instincts guide him back through the rooms he’d already cleared.  Killian heard voices echoing down the hall and he ducked into the nearest room - the Lincoln bedroom.  Memories assaulted him as he crossed the threshold - playing cops and robbers in here with Henry on the boy’s first few nights in the White House, when his parents were busy making speeches and eating fancy dinners across town.

He hadn’t known Emma well back then, and Neal hadn’t trusted him yet, so he’d stepped back, letting the men who had been assigned to the previous President accompany the couple while he got to know their son.

The minute he remembered Henry telling him he trusted Killian that night - in between roughhousing and starting to teach the boy about what it meant to be so important in the eyes of the public - Killian knew.

Henry would be hiding here.

Killian had cleared the room before, but he had done so looking for threats, not Henry.  In here, he knew, there were plenty of spots to hide that the bastards from Korea wouldn’t know about.

In here, you could hide in the walls.

Killian heard the men from minutes ago coming closer, not doing anything to hide their approach.  If Henry wasn’t here, Killian was in trouble.  But he couldn’t help the boy if he were dead, and he was almost positive he was right.

He ducked into a hidden passageway, disguised by wainscotting, just moments before the men burst into the bedroom.

More words in Korean, more reasons for Emma to be afraid.  

Henry was alone.

Killian would find him.

“Did Truman gut the White House interior in 1948 or ‘49?” Hades asked, pondering out loud.  “I believe it was ‘49.  Steel frame over the old stone walls, yes?”

Emma blanched.  Killian had been the one to tell her that - after a new, panicked agent had interrupted her meeting with the blasted Pope of all people to alert her to Henry’s disappearance.

It was the first of many such incidents, and Emma had learned quickly that if it wasn’t Killian telling her that her son was missing, he was definitely playing hide-and-seek in those walls.

The ones that, apparently, Hades knew about.

Please, God, let Killian have found him already.

The terrorist ordered something into his walkie-talkie, and Emma didn’t need to speak the language to understand that her son’s hiding spot wasn’t quite so safe anymore.

The latch snicked shut, and Killian froze, getting his bearings and also assessing whether or not his enemies had seen him disappear.  When they didn’t immediately flock to the wall, he padded stealthily away from what had once been a fireplace, holding his breath.

His weapon still pointed high, just in case, Killian listened for anything out of the ordinary.

There.

Quiet, terrified breaths.

Killian rounded the corner warily, the light from his gun leading the way.

“Henry,” he breathed out - barely audible.

Bright, tear-filled eyes met his own and Henry leapt from his crouch to wrap his arms around Killian’s neck.  Hot tears soaked the shirt Killian was wearing, and minute tremors wracked Henry’s entire frame, but he was safe, he was in Killian’s arms, and he was whole.

Hot tears pricked Killian’s own eyes, but he forced them back.  This wasn’t the time for relief.  

Henry wasn’t safe yet.

He gave the boy another moment of comfort before he pulled back, crouching down and steadying Henry against the stone wall that provided some safety should one of the terrorists open fire on the bedroom’s walls.

“Shh,” he cautioned, relieved when Henry nodded silently.

“Are you okay?” Killian asked, needing the assurance that his young charge was unharmed.

Henry nodded vehemently, almost too quickly, as if he were convincing himself.

Brave lad.

“I see this is still your favorite hiding place, aye?” he asked, pulling out the satellite phone to update the Pentagon.

Henry grinned.  “You taught it to me.”

He nodded, then held up one finger to signal the boy to wait.

“I’ve got Believer,” he whispered into the phone when the line connected.

He heard the sighs and cheers of relief - and so did Henry, if his grin was anything to go by.

“Finally,” Mary Margaret crowed, “some good news.”

Killian agreed.  “He’s safe.  I’m bringing him out.”

“What about my mom?” Henry asked when he hung up the phone.

Killian reassured him with what he hoped weren’t lies as he promised to protect Emma, that she would be okay.

And then he heard movement behind him.  He didn’t know how, but he knew they were about to be discovered.  They needed to move, and now.  Killian didn’t take a moment to contemplate, just grabbed Henry and started pushing him down the passageway with one hand, shooting behind him with the other.

He’d made it three steps when white hot pain lanced through his side, just under the vest.  It stole his breath and his steps.  Killian stumbled into the wall, pulling Henry with him to keep him shielded.  He reached shakily for his back, his hand probing until he found the bullet wound in his left side.  His fingers came away hot and sticky, the smell of blood heavy in the confined space.

“Killian!”  Henry cried quietly, his own little hand coming up to Killian’s stomach where the bullet had torn out of him.  How it had missed Henry was a miracle he didn’t want to think too hard about.

Through and through.  Needed aid but not immediately.

Henry was still the priority.

“We need to move,” he commanded, whether to himself or the boy, he didn’t know.

Slowly, surely, he pulled Henry down the passageway, limping with every step and cursing under his breath.  He was the only one here that could help, could save Henry.  He needed to keep moving.

The pain numbed as he forced himself to ignore it, his fingers tight in Henry’s shirt as he kept them moving.  A door loomed ahead and Killian knocked it open, falling to his back and aiming both back the way they had come and to the open hallway to his left.

No one was there.

Henry was on his knees next to Killian, pushing on the bullet wound and trying to stop the bleeding.  It fanned the flames in his side and tore a groan from his lips.

“It’ll keep, Henry,” he admonished.  “We need to move.”

Henry nodded, but the tears in his eyes were back.

“Are you ready to run, lad?”

Henry nodded again, clutching Killian’s hand tightly in his own.

They ran, Killian practically dragging Henry down hallways and stairs with far less stealth than he’d mounted them.  He had a plan.  Admittedly, it was fuzzy at the moment since he was mostly running on adrenaline and instinct - but it didn’t change the fact that his mission remained.

Save Henry.

Worry about Emma.

Save her.

Then, maybe, if he were still functioning, get some help for himself.

Killian burst through a doorway, gun cocked and ready, only to be met with more silence.

Perfect.

He pulled Henry along behind him, stumbling down the stairs into a basement and hoping that the vent here wasn’t sealed shut.  It was an old ventilation shaft, not attached to the newer heating system, and led straight up and outside.

“Okay, lad,” he instructed, reaching up for the grate.  “I need you to watch my six.  Can you do that?”

Henry nodded, but didn’t take his eyes off the vent.  “How are you going to fit in there?  It’s too small!”

He ignored the boy for the moment, reaching out to Mary Margaret to ensure there would be Marines, agents, the whole damn National Guard if he could swing it, waiting on the other side to get Henry to safety.

“Killian!” Henry cried again.

He turned to the boy.

Henry’s bright, imploring eyes broke his heart.  The poor kid was still terrified, all dirty from the passageways and covered in blood.  Killian’s blood.

“You’re coming with me, right?” he pleaded.

Killian crouched down, holding Henry tightly and looking directly in his eyes.  “I still have to go get your mom,” he reminded him.

Henry didn’t look convinced, eyeing the blood on Killian’s shirt.

“Look, it’s going to be okay.  It’s just like I taught you on the Rose Garden wall, yeah?  The chimney climb?”

“Yeah,” he croaked.

Killian nodded.  He could do this.  They could do this.

“Killian?” Henry pleaded.

He smiled reassuringly.

“I’m scared.”

“I am, too,” he allowed.  Killian knocked Henry’s chin gently, then reached for the badge he’d clipped to his belt earlier that day.  Before everything had gone to Hell.

“Here,” he directed Henry’s attention to it.  “This is yours now, you’ve earned it.  You’re one of us.  So I need you to be brave for me, aye?”

Henry’s fingers curled over the metal and he resolutely clipped it to his own pants.

“Okay, good man.  Up you get, yeah?  One foot on the front, one on the back and all the way up.”  He lifted Henry into his arms, stifling a cry as best he could at the insult to his side.

Henry scrambled into the vent and started to climb up, his eyes never leaving Killian’s.

“Believer is on his way up,” he chirped into the phone.

Voices.

Korean.

“Henry,” he hissed.  “Freeze.”

All noise stopped above him, and Killian moved away from the vent.  He ducked behind some boxes and waited, holding his breath, as one of the terrorists moved steadily down the stairs and directly for the open hole in the wall.

Killian started moving forward just as the man looked inside, and he could see the instant Henry was discovered.

He pounced before the alarm could be raised, wrapping his arm around the man’s neck and squeezing.

The man fought, elbowing him in the side and writhing, but Killian ignored it all, trying to maneuver his hands so he could snap the neck and be done with him.  It took longer than he’d like, but eventually he heard it, and his target slumped to the ground, lifeless.

“Go, Henry. Go!”

Killian sagged against the wall, holding his side tightly and riding out the pain as he waited, heart in his throat.  It seemed to take an eternity, and he strained to hear any sound coming down the ventilation shaft, any indication that Henry had been found by their men or, God forbid, the terrorists outside.  He was starting to wonder if he could even make it up the shaft after Henry if something happened, if his side would tolerate the -

“Believer received.”

Killian nearly wept in relief.

“Good job, Jones,” Mills cut in over the obvious cheering in the room where she was.  “Now let’s see if we can get the President out?”

“Aye, sir,” he acknowledged the order with relish.  Now, he could go find Emma.

Killian forgot to mention the sluggishly bleeding wounds in his side.

It didn’t matter.  He’d get to one of the first aid stations and pack the wound, keep himself functionable enough to keep moving.  There were caffeine tablets in the kits and that would have to suffice for now.

He found the station easily enough, biting back a grimace as the gooey substance filled the holes and stopped the bleeding.  Gauze taped over the wounds kept the stuff where it was and while he knew it was only a stopgap, Killian would take what he could get.

He was expendable.  Emma wasn’t.

The Pentagon needed to know more, they needed to know who had taken over the White House and how many men were still inside.  As he moved, he kept a mental tally of the dead insurgents, trying to gauge how many more he’d have to deal with.

He needed to find someone alive in order to force them to reveal the information he needed.  It didn’t take long.  One man, then two, fell under his attacks, duct taped and tied to chairs in one of the offices.  Killian hated this part of the job, didn’t think he’d ever have to deal with it again after he’d left the Armed Services, but he’d deal with that later, too.

Fear.  That was the only tactic these bastards were likely to understand.  Killian steeled himself and ignored the pull at his conscience when he stuck his knife through one of the men’s throats, killing him instantly and terrifying his other victim.

“Who’s your boss?” he hissed, brandishing the knife in front of the remaining man.

Gregory Hades.  Imported head of a paramilitary organization in North Korea who were known only for their brutal tactics and their love for dramatic showings.

Taking down the White House and taking Emma and her staff hostage certainly qualified.

Killian killed the other man quickly, ignoring the stab of regret - unarmed or not, this man had killed dozens of people in the last few hours and had signed his fate before Killian had ever caught him.  He cleaned the blood off his knife, sheathing it and checking on the wounds in his side.  He needed to rest, wanted to curl up in a corner and let unconsciousness take him, but there was still work to do.  A quick call to update the Pentagon later, and Killian was on the move again.

Every step felt like there was a hot poker digging into his side, the pain radiating down his leg and making him use the wall for support every few steps.  He forced himself forward, his senses thrown as far outwards as he could and that’s when he heard it.  

Footsteps.

Killian ducked into an alcove, counting the cadence of the steps and breathing quietly as he waited.  Whoever was coming down the hall wasn’t slowing down, so Killian waited.

Waited.

Pounced.

He grabbed the man by the collar, dragging him into the alcove and slamming him up against the wall.  Killian brought his gun up to level between the man’s eyes, hammer cocked and ready to fire.

“Gold?!” he exclaimed in pure disbelief.  He’d almost shot the one man in the building who was free and on his side.  “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

It wasn’t long before Hades grew tired of watching Killian on the monitors the woman had restarted.  Emma heard him speaking over the radio, taunting Jones with his perceived failures, and she scoffed.  Killian Jones had never failed at anything in his-

“Maybe I owe you for giving me the chance to make up for that failure today.”

Jones thought he’d failed her?  God, she was going to have a long discussion with him about the pitfalls of his job when he got them out of this.

“I admire you for acknowledging your failure. But…”

Emma tuned him out.  She wasn’t going to listen to the lies that Hades tried to fill Jones’s head with.  She was just going to have to beat them out of him later.

“...looking for Henry?  You can stop wasting your men on that.  He’s already on his way to storytime.”

Storytime?  Emma’s heart soared.  That was a message for her.  Henry was safe; Killian had found him and gotten him to safety.  Tears stung the corners of her eyes and Emma bit them back harshly.  Her baby was okay.  And that meant Killian was coming for her, next.

“How’s your brother, Killian?” Hades ignored the information about Henry.  “Liam Jones, I believe.  All the way over in England, yes?    You take after him, don’t you?  Following in his footsteps trying to protect the world’s most powerful men and women.  Bet he’s not too proud of you, now.  Couldn’t be bothered to take you in after your fall from grace, could he?  Some big brother.”

Emma seethed.  She’d met Liam Jones a few times; the man was as loyal to - and protective of - his little brother as they came.

Killian’s laughter over the radio settled Emma.  Hades may be trying to get inside Jones’s head, but he’d picked the wrong way to go about it.

“I’ll be sure to let him know how little you thought of him when we’re laughing about how pathetic you are next time I see him,” Killian retorted.  “You’re just another bad story to share.”

The line went dead.

Emma looked over to David, sharing a conspiratorial smirk.  He, too, had heard the code words come over the radio, and knew that it was only a matter of time.

Then Hades was standing behind him and men were moving to drag him from Emma’s side.  She struggled to rise, not knowing how she’d protect him but knowing she needed to try.  One of Hades’s men grabbed her by the throat and slammed her back against the railing, his fist colliding with her cheek and making Emma see stars.  Ears ringing, ground tilting alarmingly, she slumped back to the ground, praying harder than she’d ever done before that David wasn’t the next casualty.

David was struggling, cursing, and fighting as he was dragged up before Hades.  They let him loose at the man’s command and he stood defiantly in the face of the terrorist.

“Mister Secretary,” he said genially, “your Cerberus code.”

“No,” David hissed.

Emma heard the blow that knocked him to the ground, but couldn’t see who delivered it.  He landed right by Emma’s head, the stubborn look in his eyes tinged with pain.

“David,” she pleaded, not ready to see what would happen next.

He shook his head before the men were on him, punching, kicking, stomping as he tried to bite back cries with each blow.  Emma could smell the blood, hear the force the men were exerting, see the strikes as they continued to fall.

“Please,” she begged, unsure of who she was really pleading to.

Hades raised his hand and the beating stopped immediately.

“Your code,” he demanded quietly.

But David just shook his head and locked gazes with Emma.  “No.”

Hades kicked him in the ribs so hard that he tumbled off the platform he’d been laying on.  The beating started again and David couldn’t keep silent this time.

Emma was even louder than he was, trying to get anyone’s attention.  Trying to save his life.  She wasn’t used to being ignored.

David was wheezing, the blood dripping from his mouth, his nose, his eyebrow.  The hard look hadn’t left his eyes, but it was muted in face of the agony he couldn’t hide from her.

“Give him the code, David,” she begged, unable to stomach the idea of watching her friend killed over it.  “Please, just give it to him.”

“No,” he wheezed, shaking his head as he forced himself to his hands and knees.  “They’ll have to kill me.”

Emma shuddered, a solitary tear tracking down her face.  “Give him the code, Nolan.”

David shook his head, glaring at her for pulling rank, and stayed silent.

Hades nodded again, and Emma heard the snap of ribs under the assault.

“Stop!” she cried.  “Stop it!”

She could see David shaking when they paused again, could hear the way his breath rattled.  “David.  I’m ordering you to give him your Cerberus code.  That’s a direct order from your Commander-in-Chief.”

She could see his heart break.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered.  “They’ll never get mine.”

Not now.  Not now that they both knew Henry was safe and out of reach.

Hades nodded and the men reached down to drag David to his feet.  He was barely able to stand, his knees buckling before stubbornly trying to support him once more.  Hades reached out and dragged a finger over the gash in David’s eyebrow, smirking at the hiss of pain it elicited.

“Your code,” he whispered, cocking his head to the side like it was a secret.

“It’s an order, David,” Emma reminded him, knowing what it would cost him to follow it.

Hades grabbed him by the throat and forced David to look at her.  “Sir,” he bit out, pleading to be allowed to sacrifice himself.

Emma couldn’t allow it.  “Tell me the code, David.  Now.”

“Yes, sir,” he croaked, sounding utterly defeated.  His voice broke on each digit, never looking away from her, and Emma almost felt like he was condemning her for saving him.

When the computer beeped jovially, indicating that David hadn’t tried to do something noble like lie, the men dragged him back to Emma’s side and dropped him to the ground without a care.  He could barely lift his head from the cold tile, and she almost hoped that he would pass out, would find some respite from the pain that was stealing all of his strength.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed out shakily.  “I’m so sorry, David.”

She wasn’t entirely sure, but she thought she saw him nod and then smile.  His eyes fluttered shut and everything went still.  Emma’s heart was in her throat as she watched his chest fearfully, waiting and praying to see it rise and fall.

It was small, but it was there.  He was alive, and now all they had to do was wait for whatever happened next.